• 


SONG-TIDE, 

AND    OTHER    POEMS. 


S  O  N  G  -  T  I  D  E, 

AND  OTHER  POEMS. 


BY 


PHILIP  BOURKE   MARSTON. 


BOSTON : 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS. 

MDCCCLXXI. 


TO.  THE  MEMORY  OF 
ONE  WHOSE   LOVE  WAS  THE  CHIEF  JOY  OF   MY   LIFE, 

AND  WHOSE   LOSS 

IS    ITS   INCONSOLABLE  AFFLICTION, 

THIS,   MY  FIRST  BOOK, 

IS  DEDICATED. 


CONTENTS. 


SONNETS  :    SONG-TIDE. 

PAGE 

PRELUDE        3 

I.  A  GREETING 7 

II.  THE  LAST  BETROTHED        .           .          .          .          .  8 

III.  WEDDED  GRIEF 9 

IV.  UNUTTERED  THOUGHTS IO 

V.  A  LAKE       .          . II 

VI.  ANTICIPATION 12 

VII.  TOO  NEAR 13 

VIII.  THE  LAST  LOOK 14 

IX.  A  VAIN  WISH 15 

X.  LOVE  AND  FORGETFULNESS  .  .  .  .  1 6 

XL  A  SUMMER  DREAM 17 

XII.  KNOWN  TOO  WELL 1 8 

XIII.  EXPIATION 19 

XIV.  BITTER  GIFTS 2O 

XV.   LOVE'S  DESPERATION          .          .          .       '.          .  21 

XVI.  A  POEM 22 

XVII.  A  MESSAGE  TO  THE  SEA 23 

XVIII.  LOVE'S  STRENGTH 24 


viii  CONTENTS. 

FAGE 

SONNETS  :  SoNG-TlDE. 

XIX.   LOVE'S  WEAKNESS 25 

XX.  A  DAY'S  SECRET     .          .          .          .                    .  26 

XXI.   PERSISTENT  MUSIC 27 

XXII.   SIX  MONTHS  AGO 28 

XXIII.  LOVE'S  CONQUEROR 29 

XXIV.   THE  WIND'S  MESSAGE 3O 

XXV.   BRIEF  REST 3 r 

XXVI.  AT  DAWN 32 

XXVII.  DIVINE  PITY 33 

XXVIII.  TWILIGHT  VIGIL 34 

XXIX.   REMEMBERED  WORDS  .          ...          .           .  35 

XXX.  DE  PROFUNDIS       .          .                     .          .          .  36 

XXXI.   LOVE'S  YEARNINGS  ' 37 

XXXII.  VAIN  LOVE 38 

XXXIII.  ASSOCIATIONS 39 

XXXIV.  BEFORE  SEVERING 4O 

XXXV.   RETROSPECT 41 

XXXVI.   BODY  AND  SOUL 42 

XXXVII.  DISTANT  LIGHT 43 

XXXVIII.  WHY  DO  I  LOVE  ?......  44 

XXXIX.   BEFORE  MEETING 45 

XL.  WASTED  STRENGTH 46 

XLI.   LOVE'S  SELFISHNESS 47 

XLII.  LOVE'S  MAGNETISM        .          .          .          .          .  48 

XLIII.  LOVE'S  SHRINES 49 


CONTENTS.  ix 

PAGE 

SONNETS:  SoNG-TlDE. 

XLIV.   SEVERED  FOR  EVER 50 

XLV.  LOVE  PAST  UTTERANCE        .          .          .          .  51 

XLVI.   UNSOLVED 52 

XLVII.   HOPELESS  LOVE 53 

XLVIII.-L.   SONNETS  TO  A  VOICE 54~S6 

LI.  A  VISION  OF  DAYS 57 

LII.   PARTING  WORDS 58 

LIII.   PRESENTIMENT 59 

LIV.   LOVE  AND  HOPE 60 

LV.   LOVE'S  MUSIC 6 1 

LVI.   SUMMER'S  RETURN 62 

LVII.   FINIS 63 


POEMS: 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  ROSSINI 67 

PAST  AND  FUTURE 74 

SIR  LAUNCELOT'S  SONG  OF  GUENEVERE      .       .  79 

BALLAD 82 

AFTER  MANY  DAYS 85 

OUT  OF  EDEN 89 

A  GARDEN  REVERIE 94 

'  MY  LOVE  IS  DEAD  ' 98 

A  VISION 99 


x  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

POEMS: 

FOREBODINGS IO2 

106 


DEAD  LOVE 

GARDEN  SECRETS IX5 

A  CHRISTMAS  VIGIL *21 

SHAKE  HANDS  AND  GO X36 

TO  A  CHILD J4° 

A  SONG  OF  THE  STORM X43 

THE  LAST  REVEL ltf> 

THE  GARDEN J52 

A  MEDLEY *55 

BEFORE  BATTLE 1 S% 

UPON  THE  SHORE r^4 

WAITING *66 

IN  PRAISE  OF •  J6? 

IN  GRIEF        169 


MISCELLANEOUS  SONNETS: 

BEREFT  .  177 

TO 178 

DESOLATE 179 

FORSAKEN l8o 

FIRST  AND  LAST  KISS     ......  l8l 

NOT  LIVED  IN  VAIN  1 82 


CONTENTS.  xi 

PACE 

MISCELLANEOUS   SONNETS: 

CHANGELESS  .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .183 

ACROSS  SEAS 184-7 

SPEECHLESS 1 88 

TO  SLEEP 189 

A  MOOD '    .  IQO 

LOVE'S  ILLUSIONS IQI 

SLEEPLAND  GLORIFIED         .       .       .        .        .192 

SLEEPLAND  FORSAKEN 193 

JUSTIFICATION 194 

LOVE'S  WARFARE 195 

LOVE'S  TRUCE 196 

COUNSEL 197 

IN  BONDAGE 198 

TO  A  TUNE 199 

TO  A  DAY 200 

STRONGER  THAN  SLEEP 2OI 

SHAMELESS  LOVE  . 2O2 

STRICKEN!    .       .       .       .  .       .       .203 

ABOVE  LOVE 204 

THE  FIRST  KISS 205 

BOUNDED  LOVE 206 

CONJECTURE 207 

TO  M.  C.,  ON  HER  VISIT  TO  LONDON  IN  WINTER  .  2o8 

CAPTURED  THOUGHT 209 

SUPPLANTED  LOVES     .              .       .       .       .  2IO 


SONNETS. 


SONG-TIDE. 


SONG-TIDE. 


.      PRELUDE. 

HEAR'ST  thou  upon  the  shore  line  of  thy  life, 
The  beating  of  this  song-tide  led  by  thee, 
As  by  the  winds,  and  moon,  is  led  the  sea  ? 

The  clashing  waves  conflicting  meet  in  strife, 
Bitter  with  tears  of  hopeless  love  they  roll, 
And  fall,  and  thunder,  between  soul  and  soul. 

Strange  things  are  borne  upon  their  foaming  heights, 

Through  wild,  gray  windy  days,  and  shrieking  nights; 

O'er  rocks  and  hidden  shoals,  round  beacon  lights, 
Their  foam  is  blown,  till  on  thy  shores  at  length 
They  burst,  in  all  the  trouble  of  their  strength. 


4  SONG-TIDE. 

Sad  things,  O  love !  upon  thy  shore  they  cast — 
Waifs  from  the  wreck  of  that  fair  dream  of  joy 
With  which  the  winds  of  Fortune  love  to  toy, 

Whereto  the  waves  seem  kind,  until  at  last 
The  tempest  burst  upon  it,  in  its  might ; 
But  through  the  utter  darkness  of  the  night, 

The  happy  haven  lights,  shone  calm  and  clear 

Of  that  loved  land  so  far,  and  yet  so  near. 

No  voice  was  left  to  call,  no  hand  to  steer, 
It  fell  before  the  tempest  blind  and  strong, 
To  float  a  wreck  upon  this  tide  of  song. 

This  bitter  tide,  by  winds  of  passion  moved ; 
This  stormy  tide,  that  wraps  and  bears  its  dead ; 
This  tide,  from  all  strong  springs  of  sorrow  fed, 

Flowing  between  my  soul  and  thine  beloved  ; 
This  tide,  that  knows  no  moon  by  night,  by  day 
No  burning  sun  to  flame  upon  its  way ; 

This  passionate,  strong  tide,  whose  waste  waves  roll, 

And  call  from  one  soul  to  another  soul ; 

This  tide  that  knows  the  tempest,  and  the  shoal, 
The  utter  darkness,  and  at  best  such  light 
As  comes  between  the  day-fall  and  the  night. 


SONG-TIDE. 

Dead  hopes,  spoiled  dreams,  sad  memories  that  ache, 
Desires  whose  hopes  were  vain,  poor,  sterile  prayers 
Such  things  as  these  to  thee  this  tide  upbears. 

Hear  where  the  song  waves  roar,  and  where  they  break, 

V 

Let  the  sharp  sound  of  woe  assail  thine  ears, 
Even  as  his  who  on  some  midnight  hears 
Upon  a  close,  and  yet  night-hidden  strand, 
The  roused  sea  calling  to  the  silent  land, 
The  strong  sea  stricken  of  the  storm  wind's  hand ; 
And  as  he  listens,  feels  himself  the  pain 
Of  shipwrecked  men,  who  battle  with  the  main. 

Hear  it  again,  in  some  less  stormy  mood, 
As  one  who,  waking  from  a  dreamless  sleep, 
Hears  the  complaining  of  a  moonless  deep, 
And  feels  its  vast  and  endless  solitude, 

With  sense  of  wants  untold,  his  heart  oppress ; 
With  terrible  strong  yearnings  to  express 
All  life's  untold,  unmeasurable  woe, 
To  look  past  unrevealing  stars,  and  know 
Whereto  at  length,  men's  prayers  and  yearnings  go. 
Once,  only  once,  with  purged,  and  holy  eyes, 
To  see,  and  know,  the  promised  Paradise. 


6  SONG-TIDE. 

O  love  !  my  land  whereto  I  may  not  come, 
Is  not  my  spirit  to  thy  spirit  set  ? 
Hear  once,  O  love  !  then,  if  you  can,  forget, 
For  when  death  makes  my  lips,  and  your  lips,  dumb, — 
When  you  have  done  with  pity,  I  with  grief, 
When  no  hope  comes  to  comfort  or  deceive, 
This  tide  shall  flow  unchanged  upon  its  way, 
And  men  who  catch  its  beat  will  surely  say, 
When  comes  such  love  to  us  in  this  our  day  ? 

What  must  have  been  the  soul  that  thus  could  move 
One  human  spirit  to  such  mighty  love  ? 

Small  music  in  its  voice  this  song-tide  has, 

Not  strength  enough,  perchance,  to  stir  one  heart ; 
No  sun,  no  moon,  to  it  their  light  impart, 

No  happy  stars  above  it  shining  pass  ; 
The  summer  wots  not  of  it,  and  no  spring, 
With  winds  that  sigh,  too  full  of  peace  to  sing, 

Can  hope  to  ease  it  from  the  tempest's  blast ; 

Between  the  future  and  the  distant  past, 

It  roars  and  rolls,  its  waves  fall  thick  and  fastj 
Whirled  madly  by  wild  winds,  and  only  warm 
With  pulse  and  passion  of  the  viewless  storm. 


SONG-TIDE. 


SONNET  I. 
A  GREETING. 

RISE  up,  my  song  !  stretch  forth  thy  wings  and  fly 

With  no  delaying,  over  shore,  and  deep ! 

Be  with  my  lady  when  she  wakes  from  sleep ; 
Touch  her  with  kisses  softly  on  each  eye; 
And  say,  before  she  puts  her  dreams  quite  by — 

Within  the  palaces  of  slumber  keep 

One  little  niche  wherein  sometimes  to  weep, 
For  one  who  vainly  toils  till  he  shall  die. 

Yet  say  again,  a  sweeter  thing  than  this ; 

His  life  is  wasted  by  his  love  for  thee. 
Then,  looking  o'er  the  fields  of  memory, 

She'll  find  perchance,  o'ergrown  with  grief  and  bliss. 
Some  flower  of  recollection,  pale  and  fair, 
That  she,  through  pity,  for  a  day  may  wear. 


SONG-TIDE. 


SONNET  II. 
THE  LAST  BETROTHED. 

IN  places  that  have  known  my  lady's  grace, 
Seeing  how  all  my  soul  and  life  lay  there, 
I  sat ;  when,  lo,  so  sitting,  I  was  'ware 

Of  breath  that  fell  in  sighs  upon  my  face, 

While  like  a  harp,  wherethrough  the.  night  wind  plays 
A  sorrowful,  delicious,  nameless  air, 
A  voice  wherein  I  felt  my  soul  had  share 

Made  music  in  the  consecrated  place. 

Then,  lifting  up  my  eyes,  I  looked,  and  lo ! 
A  fair  sad  woman  sitting  all  alone 
Where  Love  brief  while  ago  had  made  his  throne  : 

Against  her  pale  still  breast  I  leant  my  brow, 

Thy  name,  I  said,  is  Grief ;  take  then  my  vow 
That  I  and  thou  henceforward  be  as  one. 


SONG-TIDE. 


SONNET  III. 
WEDDED  GRIEF. 

AND  now  we  walk  together,  she  and  I ; 

She  sits  with  me  unseen  where  men  are  gay, 
And  all  the  pleasures  of  the  sense  have  sway ; 
She  walks  with  me  beneath  the  moonlit  sky 
And  murmurs  ever  of  the  days  gone  by ; 
She  follows  still  in  dreams  upon  my  way, 
She  sits  beside  me  in  the  fading  day, 
And  thrills  the  twilight  silence  with  a  sigh ; 
So  on  we  journey  till  we  gain  the  strand 
Whose  sea  conjectures  of  no  further  land  ; 

There,  where  the  past  is  fading  from  my  view, 
To  this  my  sorrow  I  will  reach  my  hand 
And  say — O  thou  who  wert  alone  found  true, 
Forgive  if  now  I  must  forget  thee  too. 


io  SONG-TIDE. 


SONNETIV. 
UNUTTERED  THOUGHTS. 

HAVE  I  not  bared  my  soul,  O  love,  to  thee, 

And  told  thee  of  the  things  that  sorrow  said, 

When  joy  went  out  from  life  and  hope  was  dead? 
I  would  that  this  life's  song  of  mine  should  be 

A  song  to  cleave  unto  thy  memory. 
I  have  not  made  my  soul  a  peaceful  bed, 
The  worms  of  sin  upon  its  dust  are  fed, 

And  hell  makes  mirth  at  its  mortality. 

I  have  not  spared  to  cloud  thy  heart  with  dole ; 
But  in  my  breast  strange  secret  thoughts  there  lie 
Whereof  no  song  of  mine  shall  testify. 

Then  by  the  song  and  silence  of  my  soul, 
The  thoughts  that  live  and  pass  without  a  cry, 

Know  thou  of  this,  my  love,  the  very  whole. 


SONG-TIDE.  n 


SONNET  V. 
A  LAKE. 

OH,  soul  serene  !  like  some  fair,  placid  lake, 

That  flows  on  silently  'neath  day  and  night, 

What  if  my  spirit,  dazed  with  heat  and  light, 
Dropped,  drowned  in  thee ;  shall  a  leaf  falling  make 
Thy  surface  troubled,  or  a  light  wind  shake 

Thy  tranquil  depths  that  ever  flow  aright  ? 

Oh,  cold  and  lovely  lake  !  what  tempest's  might 
Shall  ever  thy  smooth  currents  part  or  break  ? 

Thy  great  calm  beauty  can  reflect  the  sun  ; 
The  stars  are  mirrored  in  thee,  and  the  moon 

Beholds  her  image  in  thy  waveless  flow, 
So  cold,  and  yet  so  fair  to  look  upon ; 
So  cold  that,  even  in  love's  hottest  noon, 

Thy  depths  untroubled  are  more  cold  than  snow. 


12  SONG-TIDE. 


SONNET  VI. 
ANTICIPATION. 

How  shall  it  profit  me  to  love  thee  so? 
What  shall  I  gain  for  all  my  love,  save  tears, 
To  make  more  grievous  still  my  grievous  years  ? 

Or  shall  the  bliss  of  half  a  year  ago, 

Comfort  my  spirit  when  it  comes  to  know 
How  all  breath-taking  hopes,  all  joyous  fears, 
Are  buried  deep  where  no  man  sees  or  hears ; 

While  on  their  grave  no  gladdening  blossoms  blow  ? 

Before  this  fatal  love  o'erwhelm  me  quite, 

Be  something  different,  sweet,  to  what  thou  art. 

Alter,  or  hide  thy  beauty  from  my  sight, 
Reverse  thy  nature,  or  release  my  heart ; 

Let  not  grief  gather  strength  by  much  delay ; 

O  love,  what  thou  hast  made  canst  thou  not  slay  ? 


SONG-TIDE.  13 


SONNET  VII. 
TOO  N  EAR. 

So  close  we  are,  and  yet  so  far  apart, 

So  close,  I  feel  your  breath  upon  my  cheek  ; 
So  far,  that  all  this  love  of  mine  is  weak 

To  touch  in  any  way  your  distant  heart ; 

So  close,  that,  when  I  hear  your  voice,  I  start 
To  see  my  whole  life  standing  bare  and  bleak  ; 
So  far,  that  though  for  years  and  years  I  seek, 

I  shall  not  find  thee  other  than  thou  art ; 
So,  while  I  live,  I  walk  upon  the  verge 
Of  an  impassable  and  changeless  sea 

Which  more  than  death  divides  me,  love,  from  thee 

The  mournful  beating  of  its  leaden  surge 
Is  all  the  music  now  that  I  shall  hear ; 
O  love,  thou  art  too  far,  and  yet  too  near. 


i4  SONG-TIDE. 


SONNET  VIII. 
THE  LAST  LOOK. 

MY  soul,  before  we  altogether  quit 

This  land  wherein  we  once  had  hoped  to  dwell, 
Take  one  last  look,  yea,  take  one  brief  farewell. 

There  shine  the  paths  that  now  her  spirit's  feet 

Shall  tread  alone,  since,  soul,  it  was  not  meet 

That  thou  shouldst  walk  with  her's,  yet  why  rebel  ? 
Such  things  we  know  must  be,  and  who  shall  tell 

What  might  have  been,  had  she  to  save  thought  fit. 
Turn  round,  my  soul,  thyself  unto  the  sea 

That  we  must  cross  ;  '  is  not  the  harvest  past, 
The  summer  ended  ?    And  we  are  not  saved  ! ' 
Strange  hands  to  us  across  the  sea  are  waved, 
Strange  voices  rise  and  call  tumultuously, 

And  hell  laughs  out  for  joy,  and  cries  at  last ! 


SONG-TIDE.  15 


SONNET  IX. 
A  VAIN  WISH. 

I  WOULD  not,  could  I,  make  thy  life  as  mine, 
Only  I  would,  if  such  a  thing  might  be, 
You  should  not,  love,  forget  me  utterly ; 

Yea,  when  the  sultry  stars  of  summer  shine 

On  dreaming  woods,  where  nightingales  repine, 
I  would  that  at  such  times  should  come  to  thee 
Some  thought,  not  quite  unmixed  with  pain,  of  me, 

Some  little  sorrow  for  a  soul's  decline. 

Yea,  too,  I  would  that  through  thy  brightest  times, 
Like  the  sweet  burden  of  remembered  rhymes, 

That  gentle  sadness  should  be  with  thee,  dear ; 
And  when  the  gates  of  sleep  are  on  thee  shut, 

I  would  not  even  then,  it  should  be  mute, 

But  murmur,  shell-like,  at  thy  spirit's  ear. 


1 6  SONG-TIDE. 


SONNET  X. 
LOVE  AND  FORGETFULNESS. 

CAN  I  not  find  in  sleep  some  hidden  place 
Whereto,  upon  some  midnight,  I  may  bring 
The  image  of  my  love  ;  some  dark,  deep  spring, 
Wherein  no  stars  are  mirrored,  and  no  rays 
Of  moonlight  fall ;  and  there  a  little  space 
Look  long  into  her  eyes,  imagining 
Some  strange,  and  now  impossible  sweet  thing  ? 
Then,  turning,  put  one  hand  before  my  face, 
And  with  the  other  seize  her  image  fair, 
And  cast  it  down  into  the  water  deep, 
And  see  my  old  dreams  pass  me  voiceless  by, 

Ended,  as  is  some  dead  man's  dying  prayer : 
And  so  returning  from  the  land  of  sleep, 
Rise  up,  be  glad,  nor  know  the  reason  why  ? 


SONG-TIDE,  17 


SONNEJ  XL 
A  SUMMER  DREAM. 

THERE  was  a  man  who  through  long  winter  days 
Walked,  sadly  without  hope,  until  the  spring 
Came  back  to  make  the  whole  world  shine  and  sing ; 

And  then  he  found  one  day  a  gracious  place 

Girt  round  with  trees  ;  while  over  waving  ways 
Of  deep  green  grass  the  gusty  winds  did  bring 
Soft,  subtle  scents  of  sweet  flowers  blossoming, 

With  sound  of  wild  birds  singing  face  to  face. 

There  he  lay  down,  and  dream'd  a  dream  most  fair, 
And,  as  he  slept,  through  all  his  dream  he  felt 
The  golden  beauty  of  the  summer  melt. 

How  long  he  slept  he  knew  not,  till  one  day 

He  woke,  and,  when  his  long  sleep  ebbed  away, 

Rose  up  and  shivered  in  gray  winter  air. 


1 8  SONG-TIDE. 


SONNET  XII. 
KNOWN  TOO  WELL. 

Lo  !  now,  how  well  I  know  the  thing  thou  art ; 

Not  more  the  colour  of  your  hair  and  eyes 

I  know  than  all  your  various  tones  and  sighs  ; 
The  laugh  half-song,  half-moan,  that  comes  to  part 
The  low  clear  voice,  and  placid  as  the  heart, 

Which,  being  stainless,  needeth  no  disguise, 

Serene  and  pure  as  moonlit  seas  and  skies 
Wherethrough  no  thunders  roll,  no  lightnings  dart. 

The  music  of  your  voice  by  heart  I  have  ; 

Yea,  every  tone,  and  semi-tone,  I  know ; 
The  sound  of  taken  breath,  divinely  sweet, 
The  touch  of  fingers,  and  the  fall  of  feet ; 
I  know  you  better  than  the  wind  the  wave, 

The  sun  the  heavens,  or  the  Alps  the  snow. 


SONG-TIDE.  19 


SONNET  XIIL 
EXPIATION. 

0  LOVE  !  if  I  have  ever  in  thee  wrought 

The  slightest  grief,  or  for  the  smallest  space 
Troubled  the  happy  calmness  of  thy  face, 

Then  may  my  soul  be  blasted  by  the  thought : 

May  it  be  made  my  curse,  till  I  am  brought, 

Through  nights  of  anguish,  and  through  bitter  days, 
To  stand  at  length  before  God's  judgment  place, 

Where  all  man's  strength  comes  utterly  to  nought. 
Then,  though  on  earth  I  had  grown  good  as  Christ, 
Done  all  fair,  righteous  things,  and  sacrificed 

Myself  for  man,  God  shall  no  mercy  show, 
But  damn  -me  utterly  ;  and  should  Christ  turn 
To  plead,  His  intercession  I  will  spurn ; 

And  say  —  Nay,  God,  'tis  just;  Lord,  even  so. 


20  SONG-TIDE. 


SONNET  XIV. 
BITTER  GIFTS. 

My  captive  soul  knelt  at  my  lady's  feet, 

And  said,  ' O  queen,  what  are  thy  gifts  to  me?' 
All  strong,  and  pale,  and  mute,  it  knelt,  and  she, 

Seeing  its  capture  utter  and  complete, 

Sighed  just  a  little  and  looked  down  on  it, 

And  said,  '  I  would  that  I  could  make  thee  free, 
For,  lo !  the  gifts  that  I  must  give  to  thee 

Are  bitter  gifts  indeed,  and  no  way  sweet.' 
Then,  with  a  robe  the  folds  whereof  were  fire, 
She  clothed  my  soul  in  unfulfilled  desire, 

And  crowned  it  with  a  crown  of  grief,  and  said, 
'  Rise  up  !  go  forth,  and  labour  in  thy  day.' 

So  crowned  with  grief,  with  torture  garmented, 
My  soul  arose  and,  speechless,  went  its  way. 


SONG-TIDE.  21 


SONNET  XV. 
LOVE'S  DESPERATION. 

SINCE,  sweet,  you  cannot  love  me,  and  we  twain 
Must  live  and  die  apart ;  and  since  I  know, 
Though  you,  through  pity,  will  not  own  it  now, 

Sundered,  your  soul  from  mine  will  not  retain 

The  memory  of  love,  as  strong  as  vain ; 
Full  soon  you  will  forget  to  grieve,  and  so 
Forget  for  what  you  wish  to  grieve  ;  and  lo  ! 

Once  gone,  you  will  not  think  of  me  again. 

Oh,  loved,  unloving  love !  let  not  this  be. 
Rather,  O  my  love,  hate  me,  with  the  whole 
Deep  strength  of  thine  unfathomable  soul. 

Yea,  let  thy  hate  be  as  my  love  for  thee ; 
Let  it  a  brand  upon  my  soul  be  set. 
O  love,  do  everything  but  this, — Forget ! 


22  SONG-TIDE. 


SONNET  XVI. 
A  POEM. 

Lo  !  even  now,  on  this  wild,  winter  night, 
Yielding  to  wishes  looked  far  more  than  said, 
My  lady  of  her  spirit-sweetness  read, 

In  tones  that  ever  soothe  my  soul  aright, 

Peaceful,  and  full,  and  tender  as  the  light 
Down  the  dim  aisles  of  old  cathedrals  shed, 
That  sweetest  poem  that  her  voice  first  made 

Sacred  to  me,  in  days  when  skies  were  bright. 

And,  as  she  read,  the  vanished  June  returned, 
And  in  the  'tranced,  gold,  sultry,  summer  weather, 
Once  more  in  our  old  place  we  sat  together. 

Oh,  days  of  joy  !  before  my  heart  had  learned 
The  bitter,  bitter  truth,  whereby  at  length 
I  know  love's  grief,  and  passion  of  its  strength. 


SONG-TIDE.  23 


SONNET  XVII. 
A  MESSAGE  TO  THE  SEA.      . 

RISE  up,  my  song,  and  plume  thy  wings  for  flight ! 

For  I  will  have  thee  fly  to  a  far  place, 

Sad  with  the  joy  of  unreturning  days ; 
There,  evermore  'twixt  storm-scarred  height  and  height, 
Calm  sighs  the  sea  or  thunders  in  its  might, 

There  goes  out  down  unto  the  water  ways ; 

And,  where  the  winds  the  fiercest  tumults  raise, 
And  waves  upon  the  loudest  reefs  are  white, 

Cry  out,  O  song,  to  all  the  sea  and  say  — 

'  Lo  !  even  he  who  sent  me  bade  me  pray 
That  thou  once  more  beloved  of  him  wouldst  be, 
And  comfort  him  again,  in  the  old  way  -. 

That  from  this  new  love  thou  his  heart  wouldst  free 

Wash  clean  his  soul  and  be  again  the  Sea.' 


24  SONG-TIDE. 


SONNET  XVIII. 
LOVE'S  STRENGTH. 

HAD  you  but  loved  me  once  as  I  love  you, 
With  all  my  strength  of  body,  heart,  and  brain, 
Till  nothing,  save  our  love,  in  life  was  plain, 

I  well  had  borne  all  else  God  had  to  do ; 

Whether  He  made  you  false  to  me,  or  drew 
The  soul  from  forth  the  body  in  slow  pain, 
Or  set  Death  like  a  gulf  between  us  twain, 

I  still  had  said  (though  what  God  made  He  slew), 

Though  she  is  false  to  me,  or,  worse  still,  dead, 
Is  not  my  soul  yet  glorious  from  her  love  ? 
If  life's  cold  now,  is  not  the  past  enough 

To  keep  my  spirit  warm  till  life  be  shed  ? 

All  strength  save  Death's  upon  the  past  is  vain, 
And  in  the  past  do  I  not  live  again  ? 


SONG-TIDE. 


SONNET  XIX. 
LOVE'S  WEAKNESS. 

I  KNOW  if  I  had  loved  you,  as  saints  may, 
I  had  kept  mute  this  love  within  my  breast, 
So  high  I  think  you  are  above  the  rest, 

That  what  to  other  women  had  been  play, 

Made  you  just  something  sorry  for  one  day ; 
One  day,  not  more ;  but  great  love  unexpressed, 
Such  love  as  makes  death  dark  and  life  unblessed, 

Is  hard  to  bear,  whatever  saints  may  say. 

It  doubtless  had  been  fair  of  me  and  great, 
If  I  had  let  you  pass  and  said  no  word, 

When  all  my  heart  was  as  the  heart  of  one 
From  whom,  as  old  tales  tell,  the  mystic  bird 
Turned  slow  and  sadly,  seeing  life  was  done, 

As  turned  your  soul  from  mine,  my  love,  my  fate  ! 


26  SONG-TIDE. 


SONNET  XX. 
A  DAY'S  SECRET. 

ABOUT  the  wild  beginning  of  the  Spring, 
There  came  to  me,  and  all  the  world,  a  day 
To  prove  the  Winter  wholly  gone  away. 

I  said — '  O  Day,  thy  lips  are  sweet  to  sing, 

But  surely  in  thy  voice  some  sweeter  thing 
Than  thy  mere  song  I  find :  lo,  now  I  pray, 
Before  thou  goest,  turn  to  me  and  say, 

Why  round  thee  so  my  heart  keeps  wandering  ? ' 
Then,  as  a  man  who  having  loved  and  lost, 
Within  his  dead  love's  sister's  child  may  see 

Something  of  what  on  earth  he  treasured  most ; 
So,  looking  on  that  day,  my  memory 

Was  filled  with  thoughts  of  April  days  wherein 

Love's  joy,  too  young  for  pain,  did  first  begin. 


SONG- TIDE.  27 


SONNET  XXI. 
PERSISTENT  MUSIC. 

Lo  !  what  am  I,  my  heart,  that  I  should  dare 
To  love  her,  who  will  never  love  again  : 
I,  standing  out  here  in  the  wind  and  rain, 

With  feet  unsandalled,  and  uncovered  hair, 

Singing  sad  words  to  a  still  sadder  air, 
Who  know  not  even  if  my  song's  refrain — 
'  Of  sorrow,  sorrow  !  loved,  oh,  loved  in  vain  !' — 

May  reach  her  where  she  sits  and  hath  no  care. 

But  I  will  sing  in  every  man's  despite  ; 
Yea,  too,  and  love,  and  sing  of  love  until 

My  music  mixes  with  her  dreams  at  night ; 
That  when  Death  says  to  me,  '  Lie  down,  be  still !' 

She,  pausing  for  my  voice,  and  list'ning  long, 

May  know  its  silence,  sadder  than  its  song. 


28  SONG-TIDE. 


SONNET  XXII. 
SIX  MONTHS  AGO. 

Six  months  ago,  and  what  thing  is  the  same  ? 
Here  in  this  garden,  where  the  sweet  June  day 
Sunk  into  sleep,  while  starry  stillness  lay 

Like  peace  on  all,  last  night  the  winter  came 

With  stormy  winds  made  strong  to  smite,  and  maim 
The  well-loved  trees,  whose  boughs,  now  bare  and  gray, 
Toss  helplessly  from  side  to  side  and  pray 

Once  more  to  feel  the  summer's  touch  of  flame  ; 

Six  months  ago,  when,  half  afraid,  I  said, 
'  Can  God's  heart  be  relenting  ?   Ere  I  go 

Shall  even  I  stand  face  to  face  with  bliss?' 
Now  all  the  meaning  of  that  hope  I  know : 

My  soul,  since  consciousness  but  sorrow  is, 

I  would,  O  soul,  thou  wert  asleep,  or  dead. 


SONG-TIDE.  29 


SONNET  XXIII. 
LOVE'S  CONQUEROR. 

BEHOLD,  O  Love  !  thy  conquest  is  complete  ; 
Through  every  sense  thy  subtle  forces  stole, 
Until  they  won  possession  of  the  soul, 

Where  all  is  sad  and  branded  by  defeat. 

Lo  !  Peace  lies  slain,  and  Hope,  with  weary  feet, 
Returns  to  me,  not  having  gained  the  goal. 
Here,  all  the  spring  is  bloomless,  and  the  whole 

Deep  music  of  the  sea  no  longer  sweet ; 

But  only,  love,  be  glad  a  little  space, 

For  one,  far  mightier  than  thou,  shall  come 
Who  makes  the  piteous  mouths  of  Sorrow  dumb 

Lo  !  he  shall  cast  thee  down  from  thy  high  place ; 

No  warder  when  He  comes  may  keep  the  gate  ; 

Till  then,  rejoice  :  for  me,  behold  I  wait. 


30  SONG-TIDE. 


SONNET  XXIV. 
THE  WIND'S  MESSAGE. 

I  SAID  :  '  What  wouldst  thou  with  my  soul  to-night, 
Oh  !  wild  March  wind  that  wailest  round  the  land  ? 
Tell'st  thou  of  some  new  grief  even  now  at  hand  ? 
Or  dost  thou  in  thy  swift,  and  sounding  flight, 
But  chant  a  requiem  for  a  past  delight  ? 
Like  moan  of  billows  on  a  distant  strand, 
Thy  message  which  I  fain  would  understand, 
Comes  down  to  me  from  Heaven's  starless  height.' 
Then  sadder  wailed  the  wind,  and  sadder  yet, 
And  swept  with  a  great  sudden  rush  of  dole 
Across  me,  till  I  cried,  '  My  lady's  soul 
Is  stirred  by  Pity,  and  its  currents  set 
To  me-ward,  and  to  me  she  bids  thee  say — 
"  Those  prayed  in  vain,  grieve  more  than  those  who  pray." ' 


SONG-TIDE.  31 


SONNET  XXV. 
BRIEF  REST. 

O  LOVE  !  O  lord  of  all  delight,  and  woe  ! 

For  all  who  hear,  thy  voice  is  still  the  same ; 

Thy  hands  cast  down  the  body  of  wretched  shame 
Still  to  thy  chosen  children  thou  dost  show 
The  marvellous,  sacred  images  that  glow 

Within  thy  inmost  shrine  where  one  deep  flame, 

Intense  and  clear,  of  colour  without  name, 
Lights  still  the  carven  altars  where  they  bow. 

Brief  rest  is  all  I  ask,  O  Love,  of  thee  \ 

A  space  wherein  to  look  contentedly 
Upon  the  beauty  of  my  lady's  face, 
And  mouth  whereof  the  voice  is  its  best  praise ; 

To  feel  the  joy,  and  not  the  bitterness, 

Of  all  her  deep  and  silent  loveliness. 


32  SONG- TIDE. 


SONNET  XX  VL 
AT  DAWN. 

HERE,  at  this  day's  dawn,  desolate  and  gray, 
Whose  light  divides  the  wan  and  watery  skies, 
Seeing  with  troubled  soul  and  sleepless  eyes, 

I  think  upon  my  love  so  far  away ; 

Sees  she,  as  I,  the  dawning  of  this  day, 

Around  whose  birth  the  wind  presaging,  sighs  ? 
Or  roams  her  soul  the  twilight  land  that  lies 

'Twixt  life  and  death,  wherein  all  ghosts  have  sway, 
Wherein  the  pallid  lips  of  days  long  dead 

Unclose  and  murmur  as  they  hover  round 

The  souls  that  thread  Sleep's  mysteries  without  sound  ? 
Lo  !  even  now.  some  day  remembered, 

May  to  her  heart  be  saying  all  I  fain 

Would  say  myself,  or  have  her  hear  again. 


SONG-TIDE.  33 


SONNET  XXVIL 
DIVINE    PITY. 

I  WONDER  when  you've  gained  the  happy  place, 
And  walked  above  the  marvel  of  the  skies, 
And  seen  the  brows  of  God,  and  large  sweet  eyes 

Of  Christ  look  lovingly  upon  your  face, 
And  all  dear  friends  of  unforgotten  days  ; 

Will  you  some  time  in  that  fair  Paradise, 

While  all  its  peace  and  light  around  you  lies, 
To  greet  your  lover  lost  your  dear  eyes  raise  ? 

And  when  at  length  this  thing  you  come  to  know, 
How  he,  forbid  to  pass,  the  heavenly  bourne, 
Through  undreamed  distance  roves  with  shades  forlorn, 

Will  you  be  sorry,  and,  with  eyes  bent  low, 
Wander  apart  the  sudden  wound  to  hide, 
And,  meeting  Mary,  turn  your  face  aside  ? 


34  SONG-TIDE. 


SONNET  XXVIII. 
TWILIGHT  VIGIL. 

HERE  in  the  stillness  of  this  fading  day, 
Moveless,  with  lips  apart  and  folded  eyes, 
Lovely  in  dreamless  calm  my  lady  lies  ; 

And,  as  one,  who  by  some  long  weary  way, 

Gaining  the  land  he  longed  for,  will  delay 
His  sleep  at  night,  because  in  heart  he  tries 
To  walk  once  more  'neath  bleak  and  unloved  skies, 

And  lose  this  azure  in  their  distant  gray, 
That  he  may  start  with  rapturous  surprise, 

To  find  his  bliss  not  false ;  so  even  now 
From  looking  on  her  loveliness  I  turn 

To  fancy  that  the  seas  between  us  flow. 

Oh,  shame,  my  heart,  for  dost  thou  not  discern 

That  gulfs  impassable  between  us  rise  ? 


SONG-TIDE.  35 


SONNET  XXIX. 
REMEMBERED  WORDS. 

Lo  !  ;mid  the  fall  and  ruin  of  my  days, 
One  thing  is  sweet  for  my  remembering, 
Those  words  which  all  my  strength  of  love  did  wring 

From  out  my  lady's  soul  when,  face  to  face, 

We  stood  together  for  a  little  space ; 
She  felt  my  spirit  to  her  spirit  cling, 
From  every  look  she  saw  love  break,  and  spring, 

And  how  my  soul  was  shaken  to  its  base ; 

Then  from  my  passion,  turning  half  away, 

Her  heart  conceived,  and  her  lips  found  to  say, 
The  words  whereby  my  soul  is  comforted ; 
Whereby  my  unbelieving  heart  was  led 

At  length  to  know  her  soul  believed  the  love 

That  had  no  way  whereby  its  strength  to  prove. 


36  SONG-TIDE. 


SONNET  XXX. 
DE  PROFUNDIS. 

OUT  of  the  depths,  love,  have  I  called  to  thee ; 
Love,  hear  my  voice,  consider  well,  O  love, 
The  voice  of  my  complaint.     If  prayers  could  move 

Thy  heart,  O  love  !  then  wouldst  thou  pity  me. 

Look  thou  deep  down  into  my  soul  and  see 
The  way  in  which  I  love  thee ;  test,  and  prove 
The  spirit's  passion  and  the  strength  thereof. 

0  my  beloved  !  through  change  of  years  to  be, 
My  life  henceforth  for  thee  anew  begins. 

If  I  in  heaven  should  thy  rapture  mar, 

1  'gainst  myself  the  gates  of  peace  would  bar, 

But  shouldst  thou  have  a  whim  to  save  my  soul, 
Then  will  I  strive  indeed  to  reach  the  goal, 
And  thou  shouldst  me  redeem  from  all  my  sins. 


SONG-TIDE.  37 


SONNET  XXXI. 
LOVE'S  YEARNINGS. 

I  WOULD  I  could  believe  the  words  men  say, 
And  Jhink,  despite  of  all,  there  ruled  above, 
Some  sure  strong  God  compassionate  enough 

To  hear  and  pity  spirits  when  they  pray ; 

That  so  from  day  to  night,  from  night  to  day, 
In  passionate  strong  praying  I  might  prove 
The  height,  breadth,  depth,  and  length  of  all  my  love. 

So  when  soft  dreams  upon  thy  spirit  lay, 

I,  sleepless,  had  devised  sweet  things  for  thee, 

Poured  forth  my  soul  in  prayer,  nor  let  God  rest, 
Till  he  had  heard  my  prayers,  and  answered  all. 
Prayers  have  I,  but  no  God  at  need  to  call. 
Then,  in  the  absence  of  all  Deity, 

Still  show  me,  love,  how  I  may  serve  thee  best. 


38  SONG-TIDE. 


SONNET  XXXII. 
VAIN  LOVE. 

I  WOULD  the  wide  waste  waters  of  the  deep 
Had  met  above  me  ere  my  eyes  had  seen 
The  face  of  her  who  is  my  spirit's  queen, 
Or  would  that  Death  had  met  with  me  in  sleep, 
And  taken  me  to  where  none  laugh  or  weep, 
Ere  I  had  felt  her  hands  on  my  hands  lean  : 
From  out  the  fields  of  life  shall  I  not  glean 
One  year  of  joy,  while  others  harvests  reap? 

I  would  some  snake  about  my  life  had  wound, 
Ere  in  the  calm,  ineffable  and  sweet, 
Of  that  strange  voice  my  soul  had  lain  a  space, 

Faint,  trembling  in  a  Paradise  of  sound, 
How  shall  I  bear  once  more  her  look  to  meet 
And  feel  we  walk  apart  in  separate  ways? 


SONG-TIDE. 


39 


SONNET  XXXIII. 

ASSOCIATIONS. 

SWEET  is  the  voice  that  sings,  and  sweet  the  air, 
But  only  sweet  to  me,  because  they  bring 
Back  perfectly  to  my  remembering 

A  tune  as  sad,  and  passionate  as  pra/r, — 

A  tune  I  heard  when  life  and  love  were  fair. 

When  all  the  strong,  sweet  perfumes  of  the  spring 
Did  so  about  my  lady's  presence  cling, 

They  seemed  her  very  loveliness  to  share. 

So,  when  I  hear  this  tune,  that  other  strain 

Revives  within  me,  and  I  see  again 

My  lady's  face  ;  yea,  then  1  do  rejoice ; 

Recalling  half-lost  beauties  of  her  voice ; 

A  little  then  the  present  off  I  cast, 

And  walk  'mid  lovely  ruins  of  the  past. 


40  SONG-TIDE. 


SONNET  XXXIV. 
BEFORE  SEVERING. 

THERE,  let  me  gaze  upon  you  ere  I  go, 

The  supple  body  and  the  placid  face 

Half  known  before  we  met,  through  old  sweet  lays, 
Or  wondered  on,  with  ecstasy,  and  woe, 
In  some  great  picture  such  as  dead  years  show ; 

But  seen,  found  fairer,  in  all  gracious  ways, 

Than  these  which  lack  the  special,  unnamed  grace, 
Which  makes  your  face  the  fairest  man  may  know. 

Speak  once  again,  that  I  may  hear  your  voice, 
And  madden  on  the  beauty  of  each  tone. 

O  love  !  be  sorry  for  these  poor  dead  joys  ! 
Be  sorry,  O  my  sweet,  for  fair  dreams  flown. 

You  had  a  little,  what  in  me  was  best, 

Now  let  all  vile  things  fatten  on  the  rest. 


SONG-TIDE.  41 


SONNET  XXXV. 
RETROSPECT. 

OH  !  strange  to  me,  and  terrible  it  seems 

To  think  that,  ere  I  met  you,  you  and  I 

Lived  both  beneath  the  same  all-covering  sky, 
Had  the  same  childhood's  hopes  and  childhood's  schemes, 
And,  later  on,  our  beautiful  false  dreams  : 

The  funerals  of  my  dead  joys  passed  me  by, 

And  things,  expected  long,  at  length  drew  nigh. 
The  joy  that  slays  and  sorrow  that  redeems 

Were  ours  before  that  day  whereon  we  met ; 

And  all  the  weary  way  that  God  had  set 
Between  us  was  past  over,  and  my  soul 
Knew  in  your  fatal  loveliness  its  goal. 

'Twas  mine  to  love,  'twas  yours,  sweet,  to  forget ; 
For  you  the  haven,  and  for  me  the  shoal. 


42  SONG- 2  IDE. 


SONNET  XXXVI. 
BODY  AND  SOUL. 

ALL  know  the  beauty  of  my  lady's  face, 

The  peace  and  passion  of  her  deep  grey  eyes, 
Her  hair  wherein  gold  warmth  of  sunlight  lies, 

Her  mouth  that  makes  as  mockery  all  praise, 

And  languorous  low  voice  that  hath  such  ways 
Of  unimagined  music  that  the  soul 
Stands  poised  and  trembling ;  breathless  till  the  whole 

Ends  in  an  unhoped  symphony  of  sighs : 

But  who  as  I  my  lady's  soul  shall  know — 
The  deep  tides  of  her  nature  that  bear  on, 
Till  all  the  line  of  common  life  seems  gone, 

To  hearts  that  weary  of  their  boundaries  grow, 

Then  must  I  turn,  O  love,  from  thee  to  go 

Through  ways,  to  places,  of  thy  soul  unknown  ? 


SONG-TIDE.  43 


SONNET  XXXVII. 
DISTANT  LIGHT. 

OH,  when,  love,  do  I  think  upon  thee  most  ? 
When  life  looks  blackest,  and  when  hope  seems  dead, 
When  darkness  over  all  the  past  is  shed, 

When,  as  men  hear  upon  some  darkened  coast, 

The  distant  tumult  of  the  ocean's  host, 
I  hear  the  future  sound  in  places  dread 
Through  which  full  soon  my  spirit  must  be  led. 

Then  does  my  soul,  through  sorrow  well-nigh  lost, 
Look  up  to  thy  soul  shining  from  afar, 
As  men  at  sea  look  up  to  some  fair  star 

Whose  saving  light  may  point  the  path  to  home. 
O  love !  bear  with  me  for  a  little  space, 
Bear  with  the  roar  and  tumult  of  my  days, 

Till  I  am  past  the  reach  of  wind  and  foam. 


44  SONG-TIDE. 


SONNET  XXXVIIL 
WHY  DO  I  LOVE? 

WHAT  is  the  thing  for  which  I  love  thee  best  ? 

It  taxes  me  to  say ;  but  this  I  know, 

Thy  tender  regal  beauty  moves  me  so 
That  my  heart  beats  and  leaps  within  my  breast, 
As  might  the  sea  'twixt  narrow  shores  compressed. 

Haply  for  this,  or  smiles  that  come  and  go 

About  thy  mouth,  or  music  sweet  and  low 
Of  thy  clear  voice,  wherein  is  perfect  rest, 

Or  for  high  intellect,  that  as  a  light 

Lights  up  thy  heart  that  straight  illumes  thy  face, 
Or  for  thy  soul's  deep  tenderness  that  flows 

Through  every  tone,  and  lingers  in  thy  gaze — 
For  these  known  things  I  love  with  all  my  might, 
And  for  the  things  beyond  which  no  man  knows. 


SONG-TIDE.  45 


SONNET  XXXIX. 
BEFORE  MEETING. 

So  we  shall  meet  within  a  little  space, 

And  on  the  face  wherein  no  love  has  birth 
Where  nought  is  clear  save  beauty  and  the  dearth 

Of  passions  good  or  ill,  I  long  shall  gaze. 

We  shall  not  speak  at  all  of  vanished  days, 

Of  years  that  might  have  been,  and  made  the  earth 
All  fair  to  me ;  but  words  of  little  worth 

Shall  pass  between  us,  standing  face  to  face. 
Too  well  I  know  the  voice  that  I  shall  hear, 
When  her  lips,  parting,  let  out  sound  more  sweet 

Than  ever  fell  before  on  mortal  ear. 

Oh,  heart  of  mine,  be  strong  until  we  meet, 

Fill  well  thy  rdle  before  her,  O  my  heart, 

Till  death  shall  end  the  playing  of  thy  part. 


46  SONG-TIDE. 


SONNET  XL. 
WASTED  STRENGTH. 

AND  has  my  love  then  no  more  use  than  this, 
To  waste  its  strength  in  waves  of  sterile  song 
Upon  life's  shore  while  heart  and  hand  are  strong 

To  dare  for  love's  sake  every  ill  that  is  ? 

O  God !  the  dying  patriot's  final  bliss, 

Who,  though  he  see  his  land  not  free  from  wrong, 
Knows  as  he  stands  above  the  shrieking  throng, 

He  serves  her  dying,  without  crown  or  kiss, 
The  Pagans'  joy  when  for  their  gods  they  die 
As  Christians  for  their  Christ ;  I,  only  I, 

Must  worship  what  I  may  not  serve  at  all. 

Oh,  thou,  my  land,  my  Christ,  my  God,  my  love ! 
Find  some  sure  way  whereby  love's  strength  to  prove, 

Ere  love  and  life  in  one  vast  ruin  fall. 


SONG-TIDE.  47 


SONNET  XLI. 
LOVE'S  SELFISHNESS. 

AND  have  I  no  more  share  in  thee,  O  sweet, 
Than  any  of  the  many  men  who  gaze 
Well  pleased  upon  the  beauty  of  the  face, 

Whose  eyes  are  glad,  indeed,  your  eyes  to  meet  ? 

I,  who  have  kid  my  soul  beneath  your  feet, 
I,  who  upon  the  ruin  of  my  days 
To  thee  an  everlasting  shrine  will  raise, 

That  men  in  coming  years  with  song  shall  greet ; 
I,  even  I,  whose  pride  it  is  to  bear 
The  cross  which  thou  hast  laid  upon  me,  love, 
Who  give  thee  bitter  songs,  as  men  give  prayer 

To  high  and  unknown  gods,  whom  no  prayers  move 

I,  who  must  long  for  thee  through  my  life's  night, 

More  than  the  blind  man  ever  longed  for  light. 


48  SONG-TIDE. 


SONNET  XLII. 
LOVE'S  MAGNETISM. 

0  LOVE  !  though  far  apart  our  bodies  be, 

I  think  my  soul  must  somehow  touch  your  heart, 
And  make  you,  in  the  dusk  of  slumber  start, 
To  feel  my  strong  love  beat  and  surge  round  thee, 
Oh,  one  sweet  island  of  my  soul's  waste  sea. 
Serene  and  fair,  and  passionless  thou  art, 
Why  should  my  sorrow  of  thy  life  make  part, 
Or  shade  the  face  burnt  in  my  memory  ? 

1  think,  too,  as  I  pace  the  tawny  sand, 
If  you  were  on  the  opposite  fair  strand, 

And  my  heart  should  with  love  to  your  heart  yearn, 

I  do  believe  you  could  not  choose  but  turn 

And  look  across  the  sea,  my  way,  until 

Not  knowing  why,  my  soul  should  burn  and  thrill. 


SONG-TIDE.  49 


SONNET  XLIII. 
LOVE'S  SHRINES. 

ALL  places  that  have  known  my  love  at  all 
Have  grown  as  sympathetic  friends  to  me, 
And  each  for  song  has  some  dear  memory, 

Some  perfume  of  her  presence  clings  to  all ; 

How  then,  to  me,  O  love,  shall  it  befall, 
When  I  no  longer  in  my  life  shall  see 
The  places  that  through  love  have  grown  to  be 

Of  buried  dreams  the  mute  memorial  ? 

Then  surely  shall  I  seem  as  one  who  stands 
Exiled  from  home  in  unfamiliar  lands, 

And  strains  across  the  weary  sea  and  long 
His  desolate  sad  eyes,  and  wrings  his  hands, 

While  round  him  press  an  undiscerning  throng 

Of  strange  men  talking  in  an  alien  tongue. 


50  SONG-TIDE. 


SONNET  XLIV. 
SEVERED  FOR  EVER. 

O  LOVE,  when  the  great  gulfs  between  us  are, 

When  all  is  said  that  you  or  I  can  say, 

When  you  have  made  your  choice  and  gone  your  way, 
While  in  strange  lands,  unlit  by  any  star, 
But  full  of  storm  and  flame  and  all  the  jar 

Of  shrill  strained  music  such  as  fiends  may  play, 

When  on  some  soul,  long  waited  for  as  prey, 
Their  hands  the  gates  of  hell  in  thunder  bar, 

I  walk,  and  heap  new  nights  and  barren  days 
Upon  my  weary  soul  to  keep  your  face 

From  rising  up  to  look  at  me,  and  press 
Upon  me  with  its  old  sweet  influence, 

Then  you  may  know,  across  a  dead  soul's  grave, 

How  love  is  strong  to  slay  as  well  as  save. 


SONG-TIDE.  51 


SONNET  XLV. 
LOVE  PAST  UTTERANCE. 

I  AM  a  painter,  and  I  love  you  so 

I  cannot  paint  your  face  for  very  love  ; 
My  heart  is  like  a  sea  the  tempests  move 

Wherein  no  ship  a  certain  path  may  know ; 

I  can  but  gaze  upon  you  till  you  grow 
Lovely  and  distant  as  the  skies  above : 
How  then  to  man  shall  I  my  worship  prove, 

And  unto  coming  worlds  your  beauty  show  ? 
I  am  a  poet,  and  my  love  is  such 

I  cannot  tell  the  marvel  of  your  voice, 

Or  show  the  laugh  that  thrills  me  like  a  kiss ; 
The  very  recollection  of  your  touch 

O'ercomes  me  like  a  sudden  tide  of  joys, 

And  my  heart  gasps  for  breath  'twixt  waves  of  bliss. 


52  SONG-TIDE. 


SONNET  XLV I. 
UNSOLVED. 

MAIMED  from  my  birth  and  nowise  fair  to  see, 
The  soul  in  me  a-flame  was  keen  and  strong 
To  shape  my  sorrows  into  burning  song ; 

Such  was  I  when  she  first  discovered  me. 

0  face,  O  voice,  O  one  sweet  memory  ! 
Her  touch  I  thought  a  trifle  just  too  long 
For  mere  indifference,  but  I  did  her  wrong 

To  think  upon  a  thing  that  could  not  be. 

1  said — 'tis  only  pity  makes  her  kind, 

I  will  not  vex  her  by  a  useless  pain  ; 

And  so  I  left  the  sunlight  of  her  face. 
Now  I  am  old,  not  only  maimed,  but  blind, 

I  cannot  guess  if  love  did  wax  or  wane, 
And  God  alone  her  spirit's  veil  shall  raise. 


SONG-TIDE.  53 


SONNET  XLV1L 
HOPELESS  LOVE. 

SHE  came  to  me  as  comes  some  time  in  sleep 
A  mystic  midnight  vision  strange  and  fair, 
The  beauty  of  her  presence  tranced  the  air ; 

And,  as  she  came,  I  felt  my  soul  up-leap 

To  see  her  face  and  for  pure  passion  weep ; 
She  paused  a  moment  and  swept  back  her  hair, 
And  looked  upon  my  face,  as  seeking  there 
Some  little  sign  in  after  years  to  keep ; 

Then,  mad  with  love  and  strong  with  love's  despair, 
With  open  arms  her  path  to  bar  I  strove  : 
But,  said  she — I  must  pass ;  so  I  gave  way, 

But  felt  first  then  the  barrenness  of  prayer, 
The  fearful  bitterness  of  hopeless  love  : 

My  God,  which  thing  is  worse,  to  love  or  pray  ? 


54  SONG-TIDE. 


SONNETS  XLVIIL,  XLIX.,  L. 
SONNETS  TO  A  VOICE. 


ROSSINI,  and  Beethoven,  and  Mozart, 
And  all  the  other  men  of  mighty  name 
Together  joined  their  previous  work  to  shame  ; 

The  subtlest  mystery  of  their  god-like  art 

To  that  most  magic  voice  they  did  impart. 
Oh,  from  what  kingdom  of  rare  music  came 
A  voice  on  which  alone  might  rest  such  fame 

As  never  yet  made  glad  one  mortal's  heart  ? 
A  star  of  sound  set  far  above  the  din 
And  dust  of  life,  a  shade  wherein  to  lie 

Faint  with  the  sudden  ecstasy  of  bliss, 
A  voice  to  drown  remembrance  of  sin, 
A  voice  to  hear  and  for  the  hearing  die, 

As  Antony  for  Cleopatra's  kiss  ! 


SONG-TIDE.  55 


ii. 

A  CLEAR  voice  made  to  comfort  and  incite, 
Lovely  and  peaceful  as  a  moonlit  deep, 
A  voice  to  make  the  eyes  of  strong  men  weep 

With  sudden  overflow  of  great  delight ; 

A  voice  to  dream  of  in  the  calm  of  night, 

A  voice — the  song  of  fields  that  no  men  reap, 
A  treasure  wrung  by  God  himself  from  sleep  ! 

A  voice  no  song  may  follow  in  its  flight, 
A  queenly  rose  of  sound  with  tune  for  scent, 

A  pause  of  shadow  in  a  day  of  heat, 
A  voice  to  make  God  weak  as  any  man, 
And  at  its  pleadings  take  away  the  ban 

'Neath  which  so  long  our  spirits  have  been  bent, 
A  voice  to  make  death  tender  and  life  sweet ! 


56  SONG-TIDE. 


in. 

THERE  is  no  sound  at  all  in  heaven  now ; 

God  and  His  angels  bow  from  their  high  place 

To  hear  the  smallest  word  which  that  voice  says, 
And  they  do  well  indeed  to  listen  so  ; 
For  they  can  hear  it  though  its  tones  are  low, 

They  must  have  learnt  by  heart  its  gracious  ways, 
Its  fluctuant  languor,  and  low  laughter's  grace — 

Such  tune  as  man  again  shall  never  know. 

O  winds !  O  birds  !  O  rushing  streams  and  seas  ! 

And  all  things  that  make  music  for  a  space, 

Dry  up,  grow  mute ;  for  one  who  hears  that  voice- 
Can  no  more  in  your  lesser  sounds  rejoice. 

O  voice  of  rest,  O  amplitude  of  peace, 

Sound  deified — a  bliss  that  beggars  praise ! 


SONG-TIDE.  57 


SONNET  LI. 
A  VISION  OF  DAYS. 

THE  days  whereof  my  heart  is  still  so  fain 

Passed  by  my  soul  in  strange  and  sad  procession, 
And  one  said — Lo,  I  held  thy  love's  confession  ; 

And  one — my  hands  were  filled  with  golden  gain 

Of  thy  love's  sweetnesses  now  turned  to  pain ; 
And  one  —  I  heard  thy  soul's  last  sad  concession  ; 
And  one —  for  thee  my  voice  made  intercession ; 

And  one — I  wept  above  thy  sweet  hopes  slain. 

Then  followed,  in  a  long  and  mournful  band, 

Days  wreathed  with  cloud  and  garmented  with  grey, 
And  all  made  moan  upon  their  weary  way ; 

But  one  day  walked  apart ;  and,  in  her  hand, 

Before  her  face,  she  held  a  sorcerer's  wand — 
And  what  she  said  I  heard,  but  may  not  say. 


53  SONG-TIDE, 


SONNET  LIL 
PARTING  WORDS. 

GOOD-BYE,  O  love,  once  more  I  hold  your  hand : 
Good-bye,  for  now  the  wind  blows  loud  and  long  ; 
The  ship  is  ready,  and  the  waves  are  strong 
To  bear  me  far  away  from  this  thy  strand  : 
I  know  the  sea  that  I  shall  cross,  and  land 
Whereto  I  journey,  and  the  forms  that  throng 
Its  palaces  and  shrines  ;  I  know  the  song 
That  they  alone  can  sing  and  understand. 
But  promise  me,  O  love,  before  I  go 
That  sometimes,  when  the  sun  and  wind  are  low, 
You,  walking  in  the  old  familiar  ways 
Thronged  with  grey  phantoms  of  the  buried  days, 
Will,  looking  seaward,  say  I  wonder  now 
How  fares  it  with  him  in  the  distant  place  ? 


SONG-TIDE.  59 


SONNET  LUL 
PRESENTIMENT. 

WHEN,  after  parting  long  and  sore,  \ve  twain 
Met  and  stood  soul  to  soul  as  face  to  face, 
While  yet  her  hand  in  mine  was,  and  her  gaze 

Made  the  blood  burn  and  leap  through  every  vein- 

When  thus,  'twixt  risen  joy  and  fallen  pain, 
We  stood  with  love  in  his  own  time  and  place, 
My  soul  had  foresight  of  the  coming  days 

When,  parted,  we  should  never  meet  again. 

0  days  expected  long,  and  are  ye  here  ? 
Come  ye  with  clouded  brows  and  eyes  austere, 

Or  with  blithe  faces  making  glad  the  sight, 

1  know  your  song  for  curse,  your  laugh  for  jeer  : 
Which,  then,  is  worse — your  mockery  of  light, 

Or  the  dumb  darkness  of  the  hopeless  night? 


60  SONG-TIDE. 


SONNET  LIV. 
LOVE  AND  HOPE. 

A  VOICE  within  me  whispered — hope  is  sped  : 

He  will  not  stir  again  so  still  he  lies. 

Alas  !  for  all  his  sweet  false  prophecies, 
Love  sits  and  weeps  above  his  silent  bed ; 

His  life  is  ended  as  a  tune  outplayed. 
But  while  the  voice  was  speaking  in  this  wise, 
My  lady  came  and  said, — '  Forbear  thy  sighs, 

For  sleep,  not  death,  upon  this  hope  is  laid.' 
Thereat  hope  rose,  and  smiled  a  little  space  ; 

But  after  this  came  love  to  me,  and  said  — 
'  No  sleep  but  death  now  on  thy  hope  is  shed.' 

Then  came  my  lady,  and  with  steadfast  gaze 
Looked  on  me  and  passed  by  with  bended  face, 
And  so  I  knew  that  hope  indeed  was  dead. 


SONG-TIDE.  61 


SONNET  LV. 
LOVE'S  MUSIC. 

LOVE  held  a  harp  between  his  hands,  and  lo  ! 
The  master  hand,  upon  the  harp-strings  laid, 
By  way  of  prelude,  such  a  sweet  tune  played 

As  made  the  heart  with  happy  tears  o'erflow ; 

But  sad  and  wilder  did  that  music  grow, 
And,  like  the  wail  of  woods  by  storm  gusts  swayed, 
While  yet  the  awful  thunder's  wrath  is  stayed, 

And  Earth  lies  faint  beneath  the  coming  blow, 
Still  wilder  waxed  that  tune  ;  until  at  length 

The  strong  strings,  strained  by  sudden  stress  and  sharp, 

Of  that  musician's  hand  intolerable, 
And  jarred  by  sweep  of  unrelenting  strength, 
Sundered,  and  all  the  broken  music  fell. 

Such  was  Love's  music, — lo,  the  shattered  harp ! 


62  SONG-TIDE. 


SONNET  LVI. 
SUMMER'S  RETURN. 

ONCE  more  I  walk  'mid  summer  days,  as  one 
Returning  to  the  place  where  first  he  met 
The  face  that  he  till  death  may  not  forget ; 

I  know  the  scent  of  roses  just  begun, 

And  how  at  evening  and  at  morn  the  sun 
Falls  on  the  places  that  remember  yet 
What  feet  last  year  within  their  bounds  were  set, 

And  what  sweet  things  were  said,  and  dreamt,  and  done 
The  sultry  silence  of  the  summer  night 

Recalls  to  me  the  loved  voice  far  away  ; 

Oh,  surely  I  shall  see  some  early  day, 

In  places  that  last  year  with  love  were  bright, 

The  face  of  her  I  love  and  hear  the  low, 

Sweet,  troubled  music  of  the  voice  I  know. 


SONG-TIDE,  63 


SONNET  LVII. 
FINIS. 

MY  lady  has  no  heart  in  her  for  love  : 

Her  soul  can  understand  the  mountain's  peace, 

And  the  blue  quiet  of  the  summer  seas, 
Or  scented  warmness  of  the  thick-leaved  grove 
That  hears  the  low  lamenting  of  one  dove  ; 

But  when  the  skies  grow  black  and  winds  increase, 

And  rains  and  sudden  lightnings  charge  the  trees, 
And  seas  at  length  in  strife  begin  to  move, 
She  only  joyless  stands  'mid  flame  and  noise 

Of  storms  that  rend  the  night  and  lift  the  main  ; 
Her  griefs  are  pale,  and  flameless  all  her  joys  : 

How  should  she  know,  then,  love's  great  bliss  and  pain  ? 

O  love,  has  all  my  singing  been  in  vain  ; 
My  songs  are  ended ;  hast  thou  heard  no  voice  ? 


POEMS. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  ROSSINI. 

DEATH,  who  has  called  thy  brothers,  has  called  thee ; 

And  not  alone  doth  sacred  Italy, 

That  gave  thee  birth,  mourn  her  set  star,  but  we 

Of  England's  misty  clime  and  sea-washed  shore, 

And  they  of  sunny  France,  thy  loss  deplore. 

The  sorrow  spreads,  till  mighty  Germany 

Takes  up  the  wail.     All  Europe  bows  the  knee. 

Not  as  one  star  that  in  a  waste  of  night 
Looks  clear,  because  there  is  no  greater  light 
To  shine  upon  the  world  and  daze  the  sight — 
Not  so  wast  thou  ;  for  round  thee  on  each  hand 
Were  men  in  whose  great  company  to  stand 
Meant  life  with  gods ;  but  by  thy  greater  might 
Of  music  wast  thou  Lord  and  King  by  right. 


68  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  ROSSINI. 

Thy  strains  go  with  us  to  the  end  of  days  ; 

Thy  soul  cleft  through  the  heavy-hanging  haze, 

And,  passing  forth  into  the  pathless  ways 

And  shoreless  tides  of  sounds,  thou  there  didst  find 

Soft  tunes,  more  soft  than  the  first  breath  of  wind 

Which,  at  a  July  dawn,  doth  gently  raise 

The  leaf  that  drops  again  into  its  place  : 

Softer  than  is  the  first  delicious  sleep 
That,  after  fever  fierce,  doth  gently  steep 
The  wearied  soul  in  quiet  dim  and  deep, 
Sadder  in  sound  than  unto  saddened  eyes 
The  twilight  deepening  in  pale  autumn  skies, 
And  sad  as  thoughts  of  those  who  all  night  weep 
By  dying  souls  their  mournful  watch  to  keep. 

What  fire  of  fury  from  these  moods  did  turn 
Thy  soul,  and  make  thy  kindling  blood  to  burn, 
And  yearn  for  strife,  as  does  a  Chieftain  yearn, 
So  that  thy  music,  with  impulsive  breath 
Of  glowing  life,  when  life  in  strife  meets  death, 
Cried  with  loud  lips,  whose  very  joy  was  stern, 
And  bade  us  glory  seek  and  danger  spurn — 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  ROSSINI.  69 

Hear  the  keen  arrows  hissing  cleave  the  air, 
And  stormy  sound  of  battle  everywhere ; 
But  through  it  comes  a  sweet-imagined  prayer 
From  those  at  home,  and  softens  all  the  jar. 
Thus  sailors,  where  the  breakers  shallower  are, 
Hear  loved  ones  wail  on  shore,  and  know  that  there 
Warm  hearts  are  bowed  with  grief  they  scarce  can  bear. 

In  what  strange  dream,  upon  what  alien  sea, 
Didst  thou  discover  that  sweet  melody 
That  is  to  coming  worlds  a  joy  to  be  ? 
To  us  that  hear  an  influence  so  sweet, 
It  draws  out  love,  as  in  the  summer,  heat 
Draws  perfume  from  a  faint  and  flowery  lea, 
Melting  the  mist  that  moves  round  memory  ! 

O  sweet  and  purest  Muse  !  Thou  that  dost  plead 
To  speak  those  thoughts  and  feelings  which,  if  freed, 
Should  gladden  all  who  hear,  thou  hast  no  need 
Of  common  words,  for  we  who  know  thy  voice 
Know  well  when  thou  art  sad  or  dost  rejoice : 
But  now  bow  down  thine  head,  be  sad  indeed ; 
Who  led  thy  steps,  thy  steps  no  more  shall  lead. 


70  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  ROSS  TNI. 

I  see  thee  stand  before  me  as  I  write — 
Thy  lustrous  eyes  full  of  soft  change  and  light, 
And  fair  bowed  face  and  lips  that  are  so  bright, 
Through  which  he  drew  the  treasures  of  thy  heart, 
And  to  the  world  their  secrets  did  impart : 
Weep  now,  for  he  is  shorn  of  all  his  might, 
And  knows  no  more  of  sorrow  or  delight. 

By  thee  his  thoughts  and  feelings  found  their  vent ; 
And  when  his  soul  in  thought  to  battle  went, 
Or  o'er  some  fair  imagined  mistress  bent, 
Thy  voice  could  peal,  or  murmur  like  a  kiss  ; 
By  thee,  through  him,  we  knew  a  lover's  bliss, 
Passion  and  pain  and  love  in  one  were  blent, 
His  heart  o'erflowed  and  bowed  the  instrument. 

Sometimes  he  filled  thy  voice  with  tender  tears, 
As  of  a  happy  maiden  when  she  nears 
The  joy  she  longs  for  and  yet  something  fears ; 
And  then  with  ringing  laughter  would  he  fill 
Thy  strong  sweet  accents,  and,  again,  make  still 
The  sounds  of  mirth,  and  fill  our  eager  ears 
With  grief  that  much  reveals,  yet  nothing  clears. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  ROSSINI.  71 

His  strains  come  to  us  now  as  blows  a  breeze 
Over  the  vast  white  weary  worlds  of  seas 
From  a  fair  land  where  dwelt  in  joy  and  peace 
One  whom  we  loved,  but  whose  bright  life  has  flown ; 
Sad  must  have  been  the  heart  whose  weary  moan 
Did  not,  for  some  small  space  of  being,  cease, 
Lulled  by  the  rapture  of  his  harmonies. 

And  who  am  I,  that  with  soft  words  deplore 
And  weep  his  death,  and  know  that  never  more 
Shall  Italy  see  on  her  golden  shore 
A  soul  like  that  which,  by  Apollo  blest, 
Has  now  passed  into  everlasting  rest  ? 
When  shall  again  such  melody  out-pour — 
Shall  that  come  last  that  did  not  come  before  ? 

Surely  the  Virgin,  dwelling  pure  above, 
Felt  suddenly  her  heart  surprised  with  love 
As  she  heard  round  the  gates  of  heaven  move, 
Borne  up  from  earth  and  splendid  with  her  praise 
And  all  the  holy  triumph  of  dead  days, 
His  strain  of  her  which  surely  is  enough 
To  win  him  heaven  and  the  joys  thereof. 


72  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  ROSSINI. 

Let  for  one  hour  his  brothers  dead  arise 
To  beat  with  tune  the  gates  of  Paradise, 
That  she  the  Virgin,  holy  and  most  wise, 
Remembering  all  the  beauty  of  that  strain, 
May  plead  with  Christ  and  surely  not  in  vain 
His  immortality,  while  we  with  sighs 
Envy  the  new-found  rapture  of  the  skies. 

Now,  Sister  Music,  living  yet,  behold 

How  England,  with  her  strength  and  gathered  gold, 

And  France,  that  in  her  white  arms  does  enfold 

The  splendour  and  the  pain  of  great  delight, 

And  Italy,  once  more  made  pure  and  white, 

Weep  for  his  death.     Did  not  the  strains  that  rolled 

Through  Paris,  and  the  voices  manifold, 

And  subtle  fragrance  of  the  funeral  rose 

Come  to  him  on  the  languid  wind  that  blows 

From  life's  land  to  the  land  of  death's  repose, 

As  on  one  wearied  long  by  sore  disease 

Who  falls  asleep,  and  for  a  minute  sees, 

In  lulls  of  consciousness,  a  face  he  knows, 

And  hears  a  well-known  voice  that  through  him  flows- 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  ROSSINI.  73 

A  stream  of  mingled  rapture  and  of  pain  ? 
So,  if  he  heard,  so  would  he  hear  that  strain 
Break  in  upon  his  sleep  and  not  in  vain, 
And  know  how  we  all  here  deplore  his  end  : 
A  little  while  on  earth  our  days  we  spend, 
Then  pass,  with  mighty  loss  and  fleeting  gain, 
To  shores  of  rest  across  death's  waveless  main. 

O  Sister,  now  to  whom  wilt  thou  impart 
The  many  secrets  of  thy  burdened  heart  ? 
What  lover  fresh  for  thee  from  Time  shall  start 
Thy  mighty  soul  to  utter,  as  did  he 
Who  now  is  gone — ordained  to  solace  thee, 
And  mourning  men,  when  fate's  malignant  dart 
Struck  dead  thy  lord  and  lover,  great  Mozart  ? 

Two  or  three  still  are  left  to  thee  ;  but  they — 
Shall  they  be  as  the  soul  that's  passed  away  ? 
Let  us  not  weep,  and  for  fresh  glories  pray  : 
Though  all  thy  greatest  lovers  are  gone  by, 
What  they  have  told  of  thee  can  never  die, 
And  blest  are  we  because  that  we  can  say, 
We  loved  and  lived  in  great  Rossini's  day. 


74 


PAST  AND  FUTURE. 

O  LOVE,  once  more  if  we 
Should  meet,  and  once  more  stand 
Upon  the  golden  strand, 
Between  the  sea  and  land, 

The  green  land  and  the  sea, 

Should  we  speak  of  the  past, 
But  two  brief  years  gone  by, 
When,  'neath  the  summer  sky, 
Was  born  what  shall  not  die 

While  life  with  me  shall  last ! 

Shall  I  recall  that  day, 

My  last  of  perfect  peace, 

When,  through  the  branching  trees, 

The  gusty  summer  breeze 
Moved  singing  on  its  way ! 


PAST  AND  FUTURE.  75 

And  far  off  lay  the  main  ! 

But  we  together  stood 

Within  that  well-loved  wood ; 

Life  looked  to  me  then  good, 
It  looks  not  so  again  ! 

Yes,  far  off  lay  the  sea, 

And,  vaguely  and  half  seen, 

We  caught  its  tender  sheen 

Of  blue  that  mixed  with  green, 
As  I  would  mix  with  thee ; 

And  hold  thee  for  a  space 

Within  my  arms,  O  sweet, 

Till  heart  to  heart  should  beat, 

Until  our  lips  should  meet, 
As  in  the  dear  gone  days, 

A  space  wherein  to  sigh, 

With  love  and  bow  my  head 

Down  to  your  face,  and  shed 

My  soul  for  you  to  tread 
Beneath  your  feet,  then  die  ! 


7  6  PAST  AND  FUTURE. 

But  strong  is  fate,  O  love, 
Who  makes,  who  mars,  who  ends, 
Whose  strength  with  weakness  blends, 
Who  joy  with  sorrow  sends — 

Just  little  joy  enough 

To  mock  us,  crying — lo, 

What  might  be,  and  what  is ! 
Yea,  often  falls  the  kiss, 
The  long-desired  bliss, 

On  lips  that  nothing  know. 

O  love,  what  did  we  say  ? 

Of  course,  you  cannot  tell ; 

And  I  know  yet  too  well 

Each  little  word  that  fell 
From  your  lips  on  that  day ! 

Yea,  I  shall  see  till  death 

Your  face  and  deep  blue  eyes, 
And  hear  the  soft  short  sighs 
That  take,  with  sweet  surprise 

Of  sound,  the  rapid  breath  ! 


PAST  AND  FUTURE.  77 

Thy  lot  is  sweet  for  thee, 

Fair,  flowery  is  thy  way ; 

With  thee  'tis  always  May, 

My  life  is  cold  and  grey 
As  any  winter  sea  ! 

Perchance  you  may  recall 
That  mute  warm  summer's  night, 
When  with  the  moon's  clear  light 
The  sea  was  calm  and  bright, 

And  no  wind  was  at  all ! 

And  hardly  could  the  deep 

Get  strength  to  kiss  the  strand, 

The  sea-wet  shining  sand ; 

A  spell  lay  on  the  land 
As  of  great  love  and  sleep  ! 

Still,  love,  my  sad  sight  sees, 

As  in  the  days  that  were, 

Your  eyes  that  would  not  spare, 

And  light  of  golden  hair 
As  flame  blown  by  a  breeze  ! 


PAST  AND  FUTUXE. 

Oh,  sound  of  vanished  feet', 
Oh,  sad  remembering 
In  winter  of  the  spring  ! 
My  lips  now  only  sing 

Sad  songs,  and  no  more  sweet ! 

I  shall  live  on  and  see 

Fresh  people  and  fresh  days, 
But  none  the  reason  trace 
Why  one  name  of  one  place 

Is  more  than  tune  to  me  ! 

But  when  you  hear  the  name, 
The  reason  you  may  find. 
O  fair  land  left  behind ! 
O  sea  of  summer,  blind 

With  light  of  summer  flame  ! 

Yea,  love  !  no  more  may  we 
Together  walk  or  stand 
Upon  the  golden  strand, 
Between  the  sea  and  land, 

The  green  land  and  the  sea  ! 


79 


SIR  LAUNCELOT'S  SONG  OF  GUENEVERE. 

SHE  is  fresh  and  she  is  bright, 
Joyous  as  the  morning  light ; 
Tender  as  a  summer  night, 
Wherein  men  lose  their  souls  for  bliss, 
And  airs  come  wafted  like  a  kiss 
From  crimson  lips  of  Guenevere. 
Who  so  stately,  who  so  fair 
As  my  own  love,  Guenevere  ? 

When  were  ever  seen  such  eyes, 
Where  the  love  light  faints  and  flies  ? 
Such  a  crimson  paradise 
As  her  sweet  mouth  rife  with  love 
Murmuring  secret  joys  thereof? 
Droop  above  me,  Guenevere ! 
Who  has  lips,  and  eyes,  and  hair 
Like  thine  own,  my  Guenevere? 


8o  SIR  LAUNCELOTS 

When  the  sun  had  left  the  west, 
With  head  upon  her  fair  white  breast, 
Oft  at  night  times  would  I  rest, 
While,  the  listening  space  along, 
Poured  the  music  of  her  song 
That  told  the  love  of  Guenevere. 
What  in  witchery  may  compare 
With  the  voice  of  Guenevere  ? 

Who  has  ever  seen  such  feet, 
Round  which  jewelled  sandals  meet, 
Sweetly  indolent  or  fleet 
As  love  prompts  or  pleasure  stays  ? 
Love  shines  royal  in  the  face 
Of  my  royal  Guenevere. 
Love  that  doth  a  sceptre  bear 
Yields  it  to  my  Guenevere. 


Thrills  her  touch  through  pulse  and  vein, 
Flooding  each  with  rapturous  pain 
That  of  its  excess  doth  wane  ; 
Moves  she  as  a  laden  vine 


SONG  OF  GUENEVERE.  81 

That  doth  rise  or  now  decline 
As  the  love-gust  sweeps  by  her ; 
Who  is  various,  who  is  fair 
As  my  own  love,  Guenevere  ? 

La  Belle  Iseult  is  fair,  we  know ; 
Her  mouth  a  rose,  her  bosom  snow ; 
Such  charms  for  other  men  may  blow, 
Their  beauties  may,  for  my  will,  pass 
Like  their  own  semblance  in  a  glass, 
If  they  leave  but  Guenevere. 
Who  has  brows  so  fit  to  wear 
Love's  crown  as  my  Guenevere  ? 

Morgan  le  Fay  is  fair  and  wise, 
With  strange  words  in  her  lips  and  eyes, 
That  read  the  secrets  of  the  skies ; 
She's  too  weird,  too  grave  for  me, 
Too  like  a  tranced  summer  sea. 
Changeful  is  my  Guenevere  ; 
Whom  shall  mortal  eyes  compare 
In  each  change  with  Guenevere  ? 


82 


BALLAD. 

'  O  MOTHER,  the  wind  wails  wearily, 
The  twilight  gathers  round  the  shore 

And  on  the  sea ; 
Oh,  loud  he  cries,  love  come  to  me, 

And  weep  no  more. 
Alas  !   my  love,  I  am  not  free, 
And  my  heart  is  sore.' 

'  Be  still,  my  daughter,  and  have  no  fear, 
'Tis  but  your  fancy's  idle  play, 

No  sound  ye  hear 
Save  winds  and  breakers  roaring  near 

From  the  vexed  bay ; 
Be  still,  my  child,  my  daughter  dear, 
Wait  for  the  day.' 


BALLAD.  83 

'  O  Willie,  the  night  is  bleak  and  bare, 
No  moonlight  shines  upon  the  main. 

In  my  gold  hair, 
And  on  my  shoulders  white  and  fair, 

I  feel  the  rain. 

Willie,  my  love,  where  are  you,  where  ? 
Do  you  call  in  pain?' 

'  Oh,  ask  me  not  too  much,  my  love, 
The  starless  night  is  like  a  pall 

Your  truth  to  prove ; 
Will  you  not  come  through  bay  and  cove, 

Love,  when  I  call — 

Thro'  waves  that  white  and  whirling  move, 
Each  wave  a  wall  ? ' 

She  girt  her  raiment  to  her  knee, 
She  left  the  barren  cliffs  behind, 

And  to  the  sea 
She  set  her  face  right  silently. 

'  Love,  I  am  blind, 
Oh,  guide  me  as  I  come  to  thee, 

Clothed  with  the  wind. 


BALLAD. 

•  Blind  with  the  force  of  beaten  foam, 
Blind  with  the  driven  rain  and  sleet ; 

O  love,  I  come ; 
O  love,  await  me  in  thy  home, 

Love  guide  my  feet !' 
She  spake  no  more ;  her  lips  grew  dumb- 
Red  lips  and  sweet. 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 

IN  autumn's  silent  twilight,  sad  and  sweet, 
O  love,  no  longer  mine,  alone  I  stand  ; 
Listening,  I  seem  to  hear  dear  phantom  feet 
Pass  by  me  down  the  golden  wave-worn  strand  : 
I  think  of  things  that  were  and  things  that  be, 
I  hear  the  soft  low  ripples  of  the  sea 
That  to  my  thoughts  responsive  music  beat. 

My  heart  is  very  sad  to-night  and  chill, 

But  hushed  in  awe,  as  his  who  turns  and  feels 
A  mournful  rapture  through  his  being  thrill, 

When  music,  sweet  and  slumb'rous,  softly  steals 
Down  the  deep  calm  of  some  cathedral  nave ; 
Then  swells  and  throbs  and  breaks  as  does  a  wave, 
And  slowly  ebbs,  and  all  again  is  still. 


86  '  AFTER  MANY  DA  VS.' 

And  is  it  only  five  years  since,  O  love, 

That  we  in  this  old  place  stood  side  by  side, 
Where  in  the  twilight  once  again  I  move  ? 

Is  this  the  same  shore  washed  by  the  same  tide  ? 
My  heart  recalls  the  past  a  little  space, 
The  sweet  and  the  irrevocable  days ; 
I  knew  not  then  how  bitter  life  might  prove. 

I  loved  you  then,  and  shall  love  till  I  die ; 
Your  way  of  life  is  fair,  it  should  be  so, 
And  I  am  glad,  though  in  dark  years  gone  by 
Hard  thoughts  of  you  I  had ;  but  now  I  know 
A  fairer  and  a  softer  path  was  meet 
For  treading  of  your  dainty  maiden  feet : 
Your  life  must  blossom  'neath  a  summer  sky. 

The  twilight,  like  a  sleep,  creeps  on  the  day, 

And  like  dark  dreams  the  night  creeps  on  that  sleep 
If  you  should  come  again  in  the  old  way 
And  look  from  pensive  tender  eyes  and  deep 
Upon  me,  as  you  looked  in  days  of  old — 
If  my  hand  should  again  of  yours  take  hold, 
How  should  I  feel,  and  what  thing  should  I  say  ? 


'  AFTER  MANY  DA  VS.'  87 

Ah,  sweet  days  flown  shall  never  come  again ; 

That  happy  summer  time  shall  not  return 
When  we  two  stood  beside  this  peaceful  main, 
And  saw  at  eve  the  rising  billows  yearn 

With  passion  to  the  moon,  and  heard  afar,  . 
Across  the  waves,  and  'neath  the  first  warm  star, 
From  ships  at  sea  some  sweet  remembered  strain. 

I  can  recall  the  day  when  first  we  met, 

And  how  the  burning  summer  sunlight  fell 
Across  the  sea ;  nor,  love,  do  I  forget 

How,  underneath  that  summer  noontide  spell, 
We  saw  afar  the  white-sailed  vessels  glide 
As  phantom  ships  upon  a  waveless  tide, 
Whose  shining  calm  no  breezes  come  to  fret. 

And  shall  I  blame  you,  sweet,  because  you  chose 

A  softer  path  of  life  than  mine  could  be  ? 
I  keep  our  secret  here,  and  no  man  knows 

What  passed  five  years  ago  'twixt  you  and  me — 
Two  loves  begotten  at  the  self-same  time, 
When  that  gold  summer  tide  was  in  its  prime  : 
One  love  lives  yet,  and  one  died  with  the  rose. 


88  '  AFTER  MANY  DA  KS7 

I  work  and  live  and  take  my  part  in  things, 
And  so  my  life  goes  on  from  day  to  day  ; 
Fruitless  the  summers,  seedless  all  the  springs, 
To  him  who  feels  December  one  with  May  : 
The  night  is  not  more  dreary  than  the  sun, 
Not  sadder  is  the  twilight,  dim  and  dun, 
Than  dawn  that,  still  returning,  shines  and  sings. 

Fed  with  wet  scent  of  hills,  through  growing  shades, 
To  the  white  water's  edge  the  wind  moans  down ; 
The  lapping  tide  steals  on,  while  daylight  fades, 
And  fills  the  caves  with  shells  and  seaweed  brown. 
Ah,  wild  sea-beaten  coast,  more  dear  to  me 
Than  fairest  scenes  of  that  fair  land  could  be 
Where  warm  Italian  suns  steep  happy  glades  ! 

Farewell,  familiar  scene,  for  I  ascend 

The  jagged  path  that  led  me  to  the  shore  ; 
Farewell  to  cliff,  cave,  inlet — each  a  friend ; 
My  parting  steps  shall  visit  ye  no  more  : 

Dear  are  ye  all  where  soft  light  steals  through  gloom, 
Here  had  my  joy  its  birth  —  here  found  its  tomb  — 
Here  love  began,  and  here  one  love  had  end. 


OUT  OF  EDEN. 

AGAIN  the  summer  comes,  and  all  is  fair ; 
A  sea  of  tender  blue,  the  sky  o'erhead 
Stretches  its  peace ;  the  roses  white  and  red, 

Through  the  deep  silence  of  the  trance'd  air, 

In  a  mute  ecstasy  of  love  declare 
Their  souls  in  perfume,  while  their  leaves  are  fed 
With  dew  and  moonlight  that  fall  softly  shed 

Like  slumber  on  pure  eyelids  unaware. 


O  wasted  affluence  of  scent  and  light ! 
Each  gust  of  fragrance  smites  me  tauntingly  ; 
Yon  placid  stars  have  rankling  shafts  for  me ; 

My  great  despair,  by  its  own  fatal  might, 


9o  OUT  OF  EDEN. 

Converts  to  pain  the  loveliness  of  night. 
Ah,  would  I  could  from  all  this  beauty  flee, 
And,  'neath  some  grey  sky  on  a  cheerless  sea, 

Let  drift  a  life  that  cannot  end  aright. 


Vain  flower  of  fame  from  which  is  gone  the  scent, 
Vain  crown  no  longer  glorious  in  mine  eyes, 
Vain  hopes  at  which,  years  back,  my  joy  would  rise 

Like  melody  within  an  instrument 

When  skilled  hands  touch  the  strings.    All  now  is  spent, 
And  what  is  gained  ?     Lo,  I  have  gained  my  prize, 
And  here  neglected  at  my  feet  it  lies ; 

It  meant  so  much :  I  now  ask  what  it  meant. 


For  thee,  lost  love,  I  shall  not  see  again ; 
The  pale  sad  beauty  of  thy  tender  face, 
Once  lamp  and  light  of  this  now  starless  place, 

Comes  to  me  in  my  dreams,  and  I  am  fain 

To  hold  thee  in  my  arms,  and  so  retain 
Thy  phantom  form  in  one  long  wild  embrace ; 
A  flush  illumes  the  features  of  dead  days, 

But  fades  before  the  lights  in  heaven  wane. 


OUT  OF  EDEN.  91 

I  am  as  one  who,  in  a  festive  hall 
Ablaze  with  glow  of  flowers  and  cresset  fires, 
Hears  from  a  hundred  joy-begetting  lyres 

A  storm  of  music  roll  from  wall  to  wall, 

Yet  feels  no  joy  upon  his  spirit  fall, 
For  all  the  while  his  wandering  heart  desires 
One  small  sweet  waif  of  sound  those  pealing  quires 

May  scorn — may  drown,  but  never  can  recall. 


Yea,  seem  I  like  that  fabled  king  of  old 
Who  gained  his  wish,  and  woke  one  morn — and  lo  ! 
With  gold  his  bed  and  chamber  were  aglow, 

And  when  his  glad  arms  did  his  child  enfold, 

He  clasped  but  to  his  heart  a  form  of  gold  — 
Gold  roses  in  her  breast,  no  more  of  snow, 
Gold  hair  upon  her  gold  and  polished  brow, 

Hard,  bright  the  hands  of  which  his  hands  took  hold. 

But  from  her  golden  trance  he  saw  her  wake, 
Saw  life  and  bloom  return  to  all  the  flowers ; 
Green  grew  again  and  fresh  the  wind-stirred  bowers, 

And  from  its  golden  frost  was  freed  the  lake  ; 


92  OUT  OF  EDEN. 

But,  though  I  drain  my  heart  for  my  love's  sake, 
She  will  not  come  to  make  my  waste  of  hours 
Fruitful  as  earth  beneath  warm  sun  and  showers, 

Nor  quick  with  scent  my  scentless  roses  make. 


Dear  soul,  to-night  our  wedding-night  had  been, 
And  death  has  come  to  you  and  fame  to  me ; 
The  summer's  breath  makes  music  in  the  tree, 

Its  kiss  with  over-love  has  charred  the  green, 

Through  quivering  boughs  I  catch  night's  starry  sheen, 
A  sense  of  unborn  music  seems  to  be 
In  air  and  moonlight  falling  tenderly, 

And  yet  1  draw  no  sweetness  from  the  scene. 

O  love,  sweet  love,  my  first,  my  only  love, 
How  can  I  find  the  flowering  meadows  sweet 
That  no  more  feel  the  kisses  of  your  feet ! 

O  silent  heart  that  grief  no  more  can  move, 

O  loved  and  loving  lips,  whereto  mine  clove 
Till  hope,  long  stanch,  with  thy  heart's  muffled  beat 
Furled  his  lorn  flag  and  made  his  last  retreat, 

And  all  was  void  below,  and  dark  above. 


OUT  OF  EDEN.  93 

Pale  form,  they  should  have  clothed  thee  like  a  bride, 
Have  twined  a  bridal  chaplet  round  thy  head, 
And  decked  thy  cold  grave  as  a  marriage-bed  ; 

For,  though  the  envious  darkness  do  thee  hide, 

I  still  shall  find  thee,  sweet,  and  by  thy  side 
Lie  peaceful  down  while  hands  and  lips  shall  wed, 
And  winds,  attuned  to  lays  of  love  we  said, 

Float  o'er  the  stillness  where  we  twain  abide. 


But  now  the  gulf  between  us,  love,  is  deep ; 
I  labour  yet  a  little  in  the  fight, 
And  bear  the  outrage  of  the  joyous  light, 

I  toil  by  day,  and  in  the  night  I  sleep, 

And  then  my  heart  gets  ease,  for  I  can  weep ; 
But  you  in  starless,  songless  depths  of  night, 
With  dreamless  slumber  shed  upon  your  sight, 

Rest  where  none  need  to  sow,  or  care  to  reap. 


94 


A  GARDEN  REVERIE. 

I  HEAR  the  sweeping  fitful  breeze 

This  early  night  in  June  : 
I  hear  the  rustling  of  the  trees 

That  had  no  voice  at  noon  : 
Clouds  brood,  and  rain  will  soon  come  down 
To  gladden  all  the  panting  town 
With  the  cool  melody  that  beats 
Upon  the  busy  dusty  streets. 

But  in  this  space  of  narrow  ground 

We  call  a  garden  here  — 
Because  less  loudly  falls  the  sound 

Of  traffic  on  the  ear, 


A  GARDEN  REVERIE.  95 

Because  its  faded  grass-plot  shows 

One  hawthorn  tree,  which  each  May  blows, 

Whereon  the  birds  in  early  spring 

At  sun-dawn  and  at  sun-down  sing — 


I  muse  alone.     A  rose-tree  twines 
About  the  brown  brick  wall,    • 

Which  strives,  when  Summer  glory  shines, 
To  gladden  at  its  festival ; 

Yet  lets,  upon  the  path  beneath, 

Such  pale  leaves  drop  as  I  would  wreathe 

Around  a  portrait  that  to  me 

Is  all  my  soul's  divinity. 

A  face  in  nowise  proud  or  grand, 
But  strange,  and  sad  and  fair ; 
A  maiden  twining  round  her  hand 

A  tress  of  golden  hair, 
While  in  her  deep  pathetic  eyes 
The  light  of  coming  trouble  lies, 
As  on  some  silent  sea  and  warm 
The  shadow  of  a  coming  storm. 


96  A   GARDEN  REVERIE. 

From  those  still  lips  shall  no  more  flow 

The  tones  that,  in  excess 
Of  tremulous  love,  touched  more  on  woe 

Than  quiet  happiness, 
When  my  arms  strained  her  in  a  grasp 
That  sought  her  very  soul  to  clasp, 
When  my  hand  pressed  that  hand  most  fair 
That  holds  but  now  a  tress  of  hair. 


How  look,  this  breezy  summer  night, 

The  places  that  we  knew 
When  all  the  hills  were  flushed  with  light 

And  July  seas  were  blue  ? 
Does  the  wind  eddy  through  our  wood 
As  through  this  garden  solitude  ? 
Do  the  same  trees  their  branches  toss 
The  undulating  wind  across  ? 

What  feet  tread  paths  that  now  no  more 
Our  feet  together  tread  ? 
How  in  the  twilight  looks  the  shore  ? 
Is  still  the  sea  outspread 


A  GARDEN  £  EVER  IE.  97 

Beneath  the  sky,  a  silent  plain 
Of  silver  lights  that  wax  and  wane  ? 
What  ships  go  sailing  by  the  strand 
Of  that  fair  consecrated  land  ? 


How  hard  it  is  to  realize 

That  I  no  more  shall  hear 
The  music  of  thy  low  replies, 

As  those  deep  eyes  and  clear 
Once  looked  in  my  faint  eyes  until 
I  felt  the  burning  colour  fill 
My  face,  because  my  spirit  caught 
In  that  long  gaze  thine  inmost  thought. 

Alas  !  what  voice  shall  now  reply  ? 

Not  thine,  arrested  gale, 
That  'neath  the  dark  and  pregnant  sky 

Subsides!  to  a  wail. 
On  dusty  city,  silent  plain, 
And  on  thy  village  grave  the  rain 
Comes  down,  while  I  to-night  shall  jest — 
And  hide  a  secret  in  my  breast. 

H 


'MY  LOVE  IS  DEAD.' 

'Tis  Spring,  the  fresh  green  glints  in  the  brook, 
The  primrose  laughs  from  its  shady  nook, 
Winter  away  like  a  ghost  has  fled  ; — 
Let  it  be  Spring,  then — my  love  is  dead  ! 

The  Summer  is  come  with  burning  light, 
The  swallow  wheels  and  dips  in  his  flight, 
The  Spring  away  like  a  ghost  has  fled  ; — . 
Let  it  be  Summer — my  love  is  dead  ! 

Autumn  is  come,  with  its  gold-tressed  trees, 
Far  through  the  wood  sighs  the  dirge-like  breeze, 
Summer  away  like  a  ghost  has  fled ; — 
Let  it  be  Autumn — my  love  is  dead  ! 

The  Winter  is  come,  with  white,  wan  cheek, 
The  bare  boughs  toss  and  the  wild  winds  shriek, 
Autumn  away  like  a  ghost  has  fled  ; — 
Let  it  be  Winter — my  love  is  dead  ! 


99 


A  VISION. 

LYING  between  two  sleeps,  I  did  behold 
A  vision  strange,  and  terrible,  and  sad, 
Which  seemed  to  me  the  key 
That  opened  all  my  wards  of  destiny. 
Now  listen,  all  who  will,  while  I  unfold 
The  vision  that  I  had. 

Beside  my  bed  I  saw  a  man's  form  stand  ; 
His  brows  were  wasted  as  by  wasting  fire, 
Madness  was  in  his  gaze, 
Pain,  with  fierce  lips,  fed  on  his  haggard  face, 
A  gleaming  serpent  twined  about  his  hand, 
Pale  victim  ot  desire  ! 

A  strange  and  vivid  wreath  entwined  his  head — 
The  myrtle  green,  the  poppy,  and  the  rose  ; 


too  A    VISION. 

Across  his  bare  white  feet 
Did  snakes  again  for  fiery  sandals  meet ; 
With  blood  the  parched  and  pallid  lips  were  red 
That  o'er  his  pangs  did  close. 

Upon  his  limbs  a  fiery  garment  shone  ; 

At  length,  with  lips  unlocked,  I  heard  him  cry, — 
'  Oh,  pain  of  great  delight, 
Be  the  sky  fair  with  day  or  black  with  night, 
Tis  all  one  thing  to  me,  by  sin  led  on 
To  where  no  tortures  die  !' 

Dead,  lying  at  his  feet,  I  then  did  see 
The  figure  of  a  boy  still  pure  and  fair ; 
And  by  his  side  one  knelt 
Whose  loveliness  through  every  sense  did  melt, 
As  through  the  soul  melts  some  wild  melody : 
Her  supple  limbs  were  bare. 

Sea-blossoms  quivered  in  her  dazzling  breast, 
Roses  and  poppies  round  her  brows  did  twine, 
About  her  body  burned 
Splendour  of  crimson  fire  ;  to  me  she  turned, 
Unto  my  sight  the  goddess  stood  confest, 
Daughter  of  blood  and  brine  ! 


A    VISION.  10 1 

Great  Aphrodite  gazed  upon  me  there  : 
Then  I  looked  down  upon  the  boy,  and  lo, 
His  throat  with  blood  was  red  ; 
And  now  her  fingers  clutched  the  white  throat  dead. 
I  know  not  if  he  uttered  any  prayer, 
Or  when  she  dealt  the  blow. 

And  then  I  saw,  with  wonder  and  great  fear, 
The  man's  face,  in  a  cold  and  death-set  likeness, 
Upon  the  boy's  face  sweet ; 
His  eyes,  his  hair,  his  very  hands  and  feet ; 
Their  souls  seemed  far  apart  as  sphere  from  sphere, 
Or  blood  from  snow's  cold  whiteness. 

And  as  I  gazed  a  space  with  straining  eyesr 
I  saw  the  vision  fading  through  the  gloom  ; 
And,  as  it  fainter  grew, 

I  heard,  the  thick  and  growing  darkness  through, 
Fierce  laughter,  weary  wails,  then  short,  sad  sighs — 
Then  silence  like  the  tomb. 


IO2 


FOREBODINGS. 

Lo,  I  heard  the  sound  of  a  sea 

That  broke  on  a  desolate  shore ; 
Then  I  said, '  O  love,  come  back  to  me : 

Return  to  me,  love,  as  before.' 
And  the  sea  cried  aloud  to  the  strand, 

'  She  shall  never  come  back  again  ! ' 
And  the  wind  blew  it  on  to  the  land, 

And  wearily  wailed,  '  It  is  vain  !' 
And  over  the  waves  that  were  high, 
The  moon  came  out  soft  in  the  sky ; 
And  her  light  was  more  sad  than  the  sigh 

Of  a  saint  for  a  spirit  in  pain. 

t 

I  said  to  the  waves,  as  they  broke 
In  splendour  of  foam  at  my  feet, 


FOREBODINGS.  103 

'  It  is  now  all  too  late  to  revoke 

The  past  that  was  golden  and  sweet ; 
The  moonlight,  as  tender  as  sleep, 

Lying  long  on  your  luminous  ways 
Would  make  souls  less  sad  than  mine  weep 

For  the  dear  and  for-ever  gone  days.' 
'  Thy  lot  is  more  sad,'  said  the  sea, 
'  Than  thou  knowest ;  and  what  is  to  be 
We  but  vaguely  foreshadow  to  thee  ; 

I  in  waves,  as  the  moon  in  her  rays.' 

The  sound  of  the  wind  as  it  blew 

Was  more  sad  than  moonlight  or  wave ; 
I  said  to  the  wind,  '  Is  it  true?' 

The  wind  said,  '  I  am  scooping  a  grave 
Deep  under  the  cold  sea  for  one 

To  your  eyes  fair,  and  dear  to  your  heart 
As  the  first  burst  of  April  sun 

Is  to  earth  when  the  dark  days  depart.' 
'  Thy  words  tell  of  sorrow,'  I  said, 
'  If  my  love  and  my  lady  be  dead, 
The  waves  shall  go  over  my  head, 

And  I  of  the  deep  will  be  part.' 


1 04  FOREB  0 DINGS. 

The  billows  rose  high  with  the  gale, 

Clouds  blotted  the  moon  from  my  eyes, 
The  breakers  broke  foaming  and  pale, 

The  tempest  shrieked  on  through  the  skies. 
I  said  to  myself,  '  I  have  heard 

The  word  of  the  wind  and  the  sea.' 
My  heart  was  stung  sharply,  and  stirred 

With  hunger  to  know  what  should  be, 
I  waited,  and  wondered,  and  paced 
On  the  shore,  by  the  desolate  waste 
Of  the  waters  that,  bitter  and  chaste, 

Spoke  in  tumult  their  message  to  me.' 


Out  at  sea,  far  away  from  all  shore, 
With  tempest  and  death  on  each  side, 

All  round  her  the  clash  and  the  roar 
Of  the  winds  and  the  pitiless  tide, 

A  vessel  went  down,  and  the  place 

Where  she  vanished  was  hidden  from  sight ; 


FOREBODINGS.  105 

But,  out  of  all  faces,  one  face — 

A  girl's  face — flashed  pale  on  the  night ; 

She  looked  out,  as  if  looking  for  land, 

She  stretched  through  the  tempest  her  hand, 

As  feeling  her  way  to  the  strand 

Where  a  dead  man  lay  rigid  and  white. 


io6 


DEAD  LOVE. 

I  SEE  that  you  are  weary  with  the  dance  ; 

Inside  the  air  is  faint  with  scent  and  light, 
But  here,  where  many-coloured  lanterns  glance 

Through  trees  whose  branches  quiver  in  the  night — 
Here  let  us  stand  alone  a  little  space, 
As  in  the  days  departed,  face  to  face. 

Your  hair  is  not  less  golden  than  of  old, 

Your  eyes  are  not  less  sweetly  fierce  to  snare 

The  souls  of  men,  and  still  your  curled  lips  hold 
The  magic  of  a  smile  which  was  more  fair 

Years  back  to  me  than  fairer  things  could  be  ; 

And  now  its  charm  with  flameless  eyes  I  see. 

Oh,  how  your  face  thrilled  through  me  five  years'  since 
The  touch  of  this  small  hand  I  hold  in  mine 


DEAD  LOVE.  107 

Would  make  my  blood  like  fire,  while  lips  would  wince 

To  feel  your  kiss ;  and  as  a  shaken  vine 
That  bows  its  straining  branches  to  the  wind, 
So  then  to  me  you  yearned  with  love  made  blind. 

Then  our  lips  clove,  as  if  they  ne'er  would  part, 

Then  hands  were  linked  with  hands,  and  eyes  met  eyes ; 

Thus  quickly  never  beats  again  my  heart 
As  in  the  days  of  that  lost  paradise, 

For  now  as  tunes  played  out,  as  poems  said, 

The  music  ceases,  the  closed  book  is  read. 

Then  all  the  ways  of  life  with  bliss  grew  bright, 

As  when  in  spring  the  long-delaying  sun 
Breaks  through  the  sky  and  floods  the  land  with  light, 

And  all  the  heaven's  glory  is  begun, 
Though  yet  before  October  ends,  the  skies 
Look  sad  and  strange  as  life-resigning  eyes. 

So  shone  our  love  which,  ere  late  autumn  time, 
Lay  pale  and  dying  with  no  breath  for  speech ; 

And  now  a  withered  rose,  an  empty  rhyme, 
Is  all  that  love  so  strong  has  left  to  each. 


io8  DEAD  LOVE. 

So  tame  love's  fire,  I  gaze  and  snatch  no  kiss  : 
Alas !  poor  love,  that  it  should  come  to  this. 

Let's  sit  beneath  this  lantern-fruited  tree, 
That  dances  in  the  wind  with  jewelled  light, 

Let  our  souls  backward  look  till  they  can  see 
Some  little  glory  of  a  gone  delight : 

Can  you  remember  something  of  that  time  ? 

Or  have  you  quite  forgotten  the  old  rhyme 

I  made  that  day  of  days  when  I  and  you 

Stood  by  the  sea  whose  stormy  shallows  roared 

On  wastes  of  shell-strewn  sand  ?    The  sky  was  blue 
As  down  the  hot  sun  on  the  wet  sand  poured, 

Up  steamed  the  sea-scent  warm,  and  sharp,  and  sweet, 

We  laughed  to  see  the  billows  thundering  meet. 

None,  save  us  twain,  upon  the  shore  was  seen, 
The  gull  cried  loud  his  short  hard  stormy  cry, 

The  blown  foam  crested  all  the  deep  sea's  green, 
The  summer  sun  burnt  hot,  the  wind  was  high, 

Up  hissing  dashed  the  bright  spray  in  our  eyes 

When  a  great  wave  broke  with  a  great  surprise. 


DEAD  LOVE.  109 

But  see  how  I  have  wandered  from  the  verse 
Which  I  remember,  though  I  see  you  doubt ; 

Laugh  not,  songs  counted  better  I  Ve  deemed  worse ; 
A  little  love-sick  song  and  all  about 

Your  face  and  voice  where  still  the  old  charm  lies, 

Sweet  waifs  of  laughter  and  soft  tender  sighs. 

It  was  a  sad  and  happy  time,  you  say, 

Yet  sweet  as  is  an  ever-changing  tune ; 
Ah  me,  the  close  of  that  still  July  day 

When  with  the  sun's  excess  earth  seemed  to  swoon, 
And  we  together  wandered  on  the  shore, 
Half  feeling  we  should  wander  there  no  more. 

All  round  the  sea-wet  shining  nets  were  spread, 
Gold  shone  the  cliffs  and  all  the  sea  was  bright 

As  through  its  glowing  depths  the  sun  had  shed 
His  soul  in  one  great  ecstasy  of  light, 

Which  fading,  mutely  we  awhile  did  stand ; 

Then  left  for  ever  that  enchanted  strand. 

Your  goal  was  Paris  :  there  one  eve  we  went, 
Your  mother  with  us.     How  she  loved  to  see 


no  DEAD  LOVE. 

Our  love  !     That  night  the  moon  from  heaven  leant, 

As  leans  some  maiden  from  a  balcony 
Down  looking  to  the  lawn  with  eager  eyes, 
To  see  a  loved  form  through  the  stillness  rise. 

Recall  the  jingling  horse-bells,  the  whip's  crack, 

The  still,  lit  villages  where  all  was  peace, 
The  hedges  in  the  moonlight  strange  and  black, 

The  voiceless  cornfields  and  the  fleeting  trees, 
The  long  hill,  wild  and  steep,  which  dashing  down 
We  saw  the  tree-girt,  white-walled,  shining  town. 

Rattling  into  its  narrow  streets  we  plunged, 

And  left  the  dim  still  country  far  behind ; 
The  coach-wheels  strained  and  thundered,  whirled  and  lunged ; 

At  first  the  great  light  almost  made  us  blind. 
Ah,  then,  what  laughs  we  laughed,  what  songs  we  sung, 
While  hands  unseen,  oft  meeting,  closed  and  clung. 

As  hot  as  ever  Eastern  desert  was 
Grew  Paris  'neath  the  blaze  of  August  heat, 

The  public  gardens,  sad  with  withered  grass, 

Seemed  but  to  say — '  Time  was  when  we  were  sweet, 


DEAD  LOVE.  in 

Before  the  south  wind  left  us  and  the  west ; 

Oh,  once  more  in  some  grey  cloud's  shade  to  rest !' 

But  life  hates  joy ;  the  war-cloud  burst  at  length, 

•  And  men  of  England  girt  themselves  for  strife, 

Amongst  them  I  :  it  tried  my  manhood's  strength 

To  kiss  you  the  last  time,  perchance  in  life. 
That  night  of  thunder  I  remember  yet 
And  how  we  parted  can  I  not  forget. 

The  earth  with  imminent  tempest  seemed  oppressed, 
The  torpid  air  shook  shuddering  to  the  sound 

Of  thunder  booming  slowly  from  the  west : 

Long  lurid  light  the  vaporous  greyness  crowned, 

And  all  things,  with  one  stillness,  ominously 

Waited  for  that  which  was  about  to  be. 

The  o'er-wrought  heaven  heaved  and  gasped  in  flame  ; 

Below  black  clouds  hemmed  in  the  fading  light ; 
Incensed,  the  thunder  cried  aloud  God's  name, 

As  one  who  warns  the  world  ere  he  shall  smite ; 
When  suddenly  up  sprang  a  gusty  breeze 
And  spread  a  panic  through  the  swaying  trees. 


H2  DEAD  LOVE. 

Then  fiercer  lightnings  clove  the  sky  in  twain, 
Loud  fell  the  thunder  crashing  through  the  sky ; 

A  pause :  then  like  redemption  fell  the  rain, 
And  hissed  against  the  cracking  earth  and  dry, 

Dark  all  around,  save  where  the  lightning's  glow 

Lit  up  the  empty  tree-fringed  court  below. 

Oh,  the  last  kiss,  the  long  last  lingering  look, 
The  touch  and  thrill  of  hands  that  intertwined  ! 

But  when  at  length  the  storm  the  sky  forsook, 
I  heard  your  voice  rise  mixing  with  the  wind. 

You  say  my  voice  was  broken ;  so  it  was, 

But  did  not  yours,  I  think,  in  grief  surpass. 

Ah,  think  of  how  we  looked,  and  what  we  said  ; 

Laugh  as  I  laugh ;  your  laugh  is  sweet  to  hear, 
Love  was  our  sovereign  then  rose-garlanded, 

He  gave  us  pain,  and  bliss,  and  shame,  and  fear, 
Now  he  is  dead ;  yet  know  we  not  how  slain, 
But  this  we  know — he  shall  not  live  again. 

Out  in  the  past,  there  let  him  lie  and  rot, 
He  had  his  time  of  birth  and  time  of  death ; 


DEAD  LOVE,  113 

Give  him  one  thought  now,  then  remember  not 

If  ever  his  pale  lips  were  warm  with  breath. 
Oh,  I  am  glad  to-night,  yea,  gay  enough 
To  dance  a  measure  on  the  grave  of  love. 

Nay,  now  at  our  past  follies  we  can  smile ; 

I  wept  hot  tears  who  had  not  wept  till  then, 
No  second  love  shall  thus  our  hearts  beguile  : 

It  happens  to  most  women  and  most  men 
To  know  one  love,  which  as  a  sudden  fire 
Burns  and  consumes  their  hearts  with  great  desire. 

Then  all  earth's  fairness  in  one  fair  face  lies, 
Then  all  earth's  music  in  one  sweet  voice  is, 

Then  'neath  the  long  rapt  gaze  of  hungering  eyes 
Love  leaps  to  find  its  vent  in  one  long  kiss  ; 

While  cold  and  sad  seems  every  other  fate, 

But  we  can  smile  now,  only  saying — wait ! 

You  wedded  joys  that  spring  from  wealth  alone, 
I  courted  fame — a  bright  and  barren  bride, 

Whom  from  Death's  arms  I  snatched  to  make  my  own, 
When  roared  the  red  strife  like  a  stormy  tide. 

i 


ii4  DEAD  LOVE. 

Oh,  very  strange  to-night  this  meeting  is, 
So  much  to  feel,  and  yet  one  feeling  miss  : 

That  comes  not  back.    Speak  on,  still,  sweet,  your  voice, 
Years  back  it  hurt  me  with  delicious  pain ; 

Let  us  shake  hands  across  our  buried  joys. 

The  waltz  strikes  up  :  you  catch  the  well-known  strain  ? 

When  last  we  heard  it  'twas  that  year  in  France, 

Let  us  go  in  ;  your  hand  for  the  next  dance. 


GARDEN     SECRETS. 

THE  DISPUTE. 

The  Grass.—  I  felt  upon  me,  as  she  passed,  her  feet. 

The  Beech, — 'Neath  my  green  shade  she  sheltered  in  the  heat. 

A  Rose. — She  plucked  me  as  she  passed,  and  in  her  breast 

Wore  me,  and  I  was  to  her  beauty  press'd. 

The  Wind. — And  now  ye  lie  neglected,  withering  fast. 

And  the  grass  withers  too,  and  when  hath  pass'd 

These  golden  summer  days,  O  beech,  no  more 

She  11  sit  beneath  thy  shade ;  but  I  endure 

To  kiss  her  when  I  will,  so  more  than  ye 

Am  I  made  blest  in  my  felicity. 

WHAT  THE  ROSE  SAW. 
The  Rose. — Oh,  Lily  sweet,  I  saw  a  pleasant  sight. 
The  Lily. — Where  saw  you  it,  and  when  ? 


1 1 6  GARDEN  SECRETS. 

Tlie  Rose. — Here ;  when  the  night 

Lay  calmly  over  all  and  covered  us, 

And  no  wind  blew,  however  tremulous, 

I  heard  afar  the  light  fall  of  her  feet 

And  murmur  of  her  raiment  soft  and  sweet. 

The  Lily. — What  said  she  to  thee  when  she  came  anear  ? 

The  Rose. — No  word,  but  o'er  me  bent  till  I  could  hear 

The  beating  of  her  heart,  and  feel  her  blood 

Swell  to  a  blossom  that  which  was  a  bud. 

Alas,  I  have  no  words  to  tell  the  bliss 

When  on  my  trembling  petals  fell  her  kiss ; 

Sweeter  than  soft  rain  falling  after  heat, 

Or  dew  at  dawn  was  that  kiss  soft  and  sweet. 

Then  fell  another  shadow  on  the  ground, 

And  for  a  little  space  there  was  no  sound  ; 

I  knew  who  stood  beside  her,  saw  his  face 

Shining  and  happy  in  that  happy  place, 

I  knew  not  what  they  said ;  but  this  I  know 

They  kissed  and  passed  :  where  think  you  did  they  go  ? 


GARDEN  SE CRE TS.  117 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  WIND. 
DAWN. 

The  Rose. — When  think  you  comes  the  wind, 

The  wind  that  kisses  me  and  is  so  kind  ? 

Lo  !  how  the  lily*  sleeps  ;  her  sleep  is  light ; 

Would  I  were  like  the  lily  pale  and  white  ; 

Will  the  wind  come  ? 

The  Beech. — Perchance  for  thee  too  soon. 

The  Rose. — If  not,  how  could  1  live  until  the  noon  ? 

What,  think  you,  Beech-tree,  makes  the  wind  delay  ? 

Why  comes  he  not  at  breaking  of  the  day  ? 

The  Beech. — Hush,  child,  and,  like  the  lily,  go  to  sleep. 

The  Rose. — You  know  I  cannot. 

The  Beech. — Nay,  then,  do  not  weep. 

The  Beech. — (After  a  pause) :  Thy  lover  comes,  be  happy 

now,  O  Rose, 

And  softly  through  my  bending  branches  goes. 
Soon  he  shall  come,  and  you  shall  feel  his  kiss. 
77ie  Rose. — Already  my  flushed  heart  grows  faint  with  bliss  ; 
Love,  I  have  longed  for  thee  through  all  the  night. 
The  Wind. — And  I  to  kiss  thy  petals  warm  and  bright. 


i  r  8  GARDEN  SECRE  TS. 

The  Rose. — Laugh  round  me,  love,  and  kiss  me ;  it  is  well.     . 
Nay,  have  no  fear,  the  lily  will  not  tell. 

MORNING. 

'Twas  dawn  when  first  you  came,  and  now  the  sun 
Shines  brightly  and  the  dews  of  dawn  are  done. 
Tis  well  you  take  me  so  in  your  embrace  ; 
But  lay  me  back  again  into  my  place, 
For  I  am  worn,  perhaps  with  bliss  extreme. 
The  Wind. — Nay,  you  must  wake,  love,  from  this  childish 

dream. 

The  Rose. — 'Tis  thou,  love,  seemest  changed ;  thy  laugh  is  loud, 
And  'neath  thy  stormy  kiss  my  head  is  bowed. 
O  love,  O  Wind,  a  space  wilt  thou  not  spare  ? 
The  Wind.  —Not  while  thy  petals  are  so  soft  and  fair. 
The  Rose. — My  buds  are  blind  with  leaves,  they  cannot  see, 
O  love,  O  Wind,  wilt  thou  not  pity  me  ? 

EVENING. 

77ie  Beech. — O  Wind,  a  word  with  you  before  you  pass, 
What  didst  thou  to  the  Rose  that  on  the  grass 
Broken  she  lies  and  pale,  who  loved  thee  so  ? 
The  Wind. — Roses  must  live  and  love,  and  winds  must  blow. 


GARDEN  SE  CRE  TS.  119 


THE  GARDEN'S  LOSS. 

A  Lily. — He  will  not  speak  to  us  again. 

No  more  the  sudden  summer  rain 

Will  fall  from  off  his  trembling  leaves, 

Even  the  scentless  tulip  grieves, 

Ah  me,  the  loud  noise  of  that  night, 

And  that  fierce  blaze  of  blinding  light 

That  slew  him  in  the  midst  of  bliss, 

Stretch  out,  O  Rose,  and  let  us  kiss. 

The  Rose. — He  was  a  friend  to  all  indeed  ; 

Even  the  wild  unlovely  weed 

Loved  him  and  clove  unto  his  root : 

When  next  winds  blow  he  shall  be  mute. 

Hie  Lily. — He  was  the  noblest  of  all  trees. 

A  Tulip. — Your  sorrow  cannot  bring  you  ease. 

Tfic  Lily. — Still  we  must  mourn  so  great  a  one. 

The  Rose. — I  would  the  summer  time  were  done. 

The  birds  we  loved  sang  in  his  boughs. 

And  in  his  branches  made  their  house ; 

All  graciously  he  bowed  and  swayed, 

And,  when  of  winds  we  were  afraid, 


120  GARDEN  SECRETS. 

How  tenderly  his  boughs  he  moved, 

A  loving  tree  and  well  beloved. 

An  Elm. — He  was  a  noble  tree  and  vast, 

His  branches  revelled  in  the  blast, 

I  always  took  him  for  our  king  ; 

Yet  better  that  he  was  so  slain 

In  midst  of  his  loved  wind  and  rain, 

Than  some  sharp  axe  should  lay  him  low. 

The  Rose. — Better ;  but  now  I  only  know 

He  shall  not  speak  again  to  me, 

Nor,  lily,  shall  he  speak  to  thee. 


121 


A  CHRISTMAS  VIGIL. 

ROUND  the  vast  city  draws  the  twilight  gray ; 

1  know  men  say, 

This  evening  is  the  eve  of  Christmas  Day, 
But  what  has  Christmas  time  to  do  with  me, 
Who  live  a  shameful  life  out  shamelessly  ? 
A  creature  now  that  doth  not  even  yearn 

From  sin  to  turn  ; 

Too  blind  perchance  it  may  be  to  discern 
God's  mighty  mercy,  and  the  boundless  love 
That  all  paid,  praying  preachers  tell  us  of. 

Here  he  lies  dead,  with  whom  my  shame  began, 

This  is  the  man  ! 

Through  whom  my  life  to  such  dishonour  ran. 
He  was  the  snare  in  which  my  soul  was  caught ; 
Oh,  the  sweet  ways  wherein  for  love  he  wrought. 


122  A  CHRISTMAS  VIGIL. 

Yet  God,  not  he,  my  wrath  of  soul  shall  bear, 

God  set  the  snare  ! 

God  made  him  lustful,  and  God  made  me  fair. 
O  God  !  were  not  his  kisses  more  to  me 
Than  Christians'  hopes  of  immortality  ? 

O  lovely,  wasted  fingers,  lithe  and  long, 

So  kind  and  strong  ; 

O  lips  !  wherein  all  laughter  was  a  song, 
All  song  as  laughter.     O  the  cold,  calm  face, 
The  speechless  marble  mouth,  that  had  such  ways 
Of  singing,  that  for  very  joy  of  it, 

My  heart  would  beat 

Almost  as  loud  as  when  our  lips  would  meet, 
And  all  love's  passion,  hotter  for  its  shame, 
Set  panting  mouths  and  thirsting  eyes  on  flame. 

Thus,  would  I  part  his  hair  back  from  the  brow  ; 

But  look  you  now, 

What  thing  is  left  for  me,  save  this,  to  bow 
Myself  unto  him,  as  in  days  gone  by, 
To  stretch  myself  beside  him,  and  to  die  ;• 


A  CHRISTMAS  VIGIL.  123 

To  crush  my  burning,  aching  lips  on  his, 

In  one  long  kiss ; 

To  know  how  cold  and  strange  a  thing  death  is  ? 
His  lips  are  cold,  but  my  lips  are  so  hot, 
That  all  death's  fearful  coldness  chills  them  not. 


Fast  falls  the  night,  and  down  the  iron  street, 

Loud  ring  the  feet 

Of  happy  people,  who  pass  on  to  meet 

Fair  sights  of  home ;  I  hear  the  roll  and  roar 

Of  traffic,  like  a  sea  upon  a  shore. 

One  dying  candle's  pallid  light  is  shed 

Upon  the  bed 

Whereon  is  laid  my  beautiful,  cold  dead, — 

Mine,  altogether  mine,  for  two  brief  days  ! 

Are  not  these  hands  his  hands  ;  this  face  his  face  ? 

And  now  I  can  recall  the  time  gone  by, 

The  pure  fresh  sky 

Of  spring,  'neath  which  we  first  met,  he  and  I, 
The  smell  of  rainy  fields  in  early  spring, 
The  song  of  thrushes,  and  the  glimmering 


124  A  CHRISTMAS  VIGIL. 

Of  rain-drenched  leaves  by  sudden  sun  made  bright, 

The  tender  light 

Of  peaceful  evening,  and  the  saintly  night. 
Sweet  still  the  scent  of  roses ;  only  this, 
They  had  a  perfume  then  which  now  I  miss. 


Yea,  too,  I  can  recall  the  night  wherein 

Did  first  begin 

The  joy  of  that  intoxicating  sin. 

Late  was  the  day  in  April,  gray  and  still, 

Too  faint  to  gladden,  and  too  mild  to  chill ; 

Hot  lay  upon  my  lips  the  last  night's  kiss, 

The  first  of  his  : 

I  wandered  blindly  between  shame  and  bliss  ; 

And,  yearning,  hung  all  day  about  the  lane, 

Where,  in  the  evening,  he  should  come  again. 

Now,  when  the  time  of  the  sun's  setting  came, 

The  sky  caught  flame ; 
For  all  the  sun.  which  as  an  empty  name 
Had  been  that  day,  then  rent  the  leaden  veil 
And  flashed  out  sharp,  'twixt  watery  clouds,  and  pale, 


A  CHRISTMAS  VIGIL.  12$ 

Then,  suddenly,  a  stormy  wind  upsprang, 

That  shrieked  and  sang; 
Around  the  reeling  tree-tops,  loud  it  rang, 
And  all  was  dappled  blue,  and  faint,  fresh  gold, 
Lovely,  and  virgin ;  wild,  and  sweet,  and  cold. 


Then  through  the  wind  I  heard  his  voice  ring  out, 

And  half  in  doubt, 

Trembling  and  glad,  I  turned,  and  looked  about, 

And  saw  him  standing  in  my  downward  way, 

Full  in  the  splendour  of  the  dying  day. 

Silent  I  stood  a  space,  and  then  at  last 

Strong  arms  were  cast 

About  me,  and  his  burning  spirit  passed 

Into  my  spirit,  till  the  twain  as  one 

Shone  out  together  under  passion's  sun. 

I  felt  that  joy  unnameable  was  near; 

A  great  sweet  fear 

Fell  all  around  me,  and  no  thing  was  clear 
To  me  save  this, — that  in  his  arms  I  lay, 
And  felt  his  kisses  burn  my  soul  away. 


i26  A  CHRISTMAS  VIGIL. 

I  heard  the  wild  wind  singing  in  my  hair, 

And  saw  the  fair 

Green  branches  tossing  in  the  stormy  air ; 
And,  through  the  failing  light,  I  heard  a  voice 
That  cried,  'O  soul,  at  least  this  night  rejoice!' 


Ah  me  1  the  shameless,  limitless  delight 

Of  that  spring  night  ! 

The  magic  ways  wherein,  'twixt  dusk  and  light, 
I  wandered,  dazed  and  faint  with  joy's  excess— 
Ah,  God  !  what  human  creature  shall  express 
That  night's  dear  joy,  the  long  thirst  quenched  at  last, 

All  shame  outcast, 
The  haven  entered,  and  the  tempest  passed  ? 

0  shameful,  sacred  night,  whereby  alone 

1  bear  with  life  till  life's  last  day  be  done  ! 


But  when  the  feverish  night  had  passed  away, 

And  faint,  and  grey, 

On  wet,  chill  April  fields  calm  broke  the  day, 
I  rose,  and  in  an  altered  world  had  part ; 
Love,  marred  by  shame,  lay  bitter  at  my  heart. 


A  CHRISTMAS  VIGIL,  127 

Through  all  my  daily  rounds  that  day  I  went, 

Till  Hay  was  spent ; 

And  with  the  night  once  more  came  sweet  content, 
And  joy  that  shut  out  every  thought  of  shame, 
And  made  all  infamy  an  empty  name. 


Then  quickly  came  the  waste,  gold,  summer  days, 

The  blinding  blaze 

Of  burning  sunlight,  and  the  sultry  ways 

Of  breathless  nights,  wherein  the  moon  seemed  strange, 

And  with  the  scent  of  roses  came  the  change  ; 

Yea,  when,  as  naked  blades  sharp-edged  and  bright, 

'Neath  blasting  light, 

Sharp  flashed  the  streams ;  when  every  coming  night, 

Solemn  with  moonlight,  or  with  stars  thrilled  through, 

Or  quite  unlit  but  passionately  blue, 


Were  sweet  as  rest — 'mid  song,  and  scent,  and  flame, 

To  me  there  came 

The  sense  of  loss,  and  bitterness  of  shame. 
Surely  between  his  kisses  he  had  said, 
'  O  love  !  before  the  summer  time  has  fled, 


128  A  CHRISTMAS  VIGIL. 

I  will  return,  and  thou  with  me  shalt  come 

To  a  fair  home.' 

My  kisses  answered,  for  my  voice  was  dumb. 
Ah,  God  !  those  terrible  June  days,  wherein 
No  rapture  came  to  hush  the  voice  of  sin. 


O  sickening  perfume  of  those  summer  days  ! 

O  tree-girt  ways 

Wherein  we  wandered  !  O  the  happy  place 
Where  first  I  burst  on  love,  and  love  on  me ! 

0  sleepless  nights  when  tears  fell  bitterly  ! 
So  died  the  Summer ;  and  the  Autumn  sweet, 

With  languid  feet ; 

And  recollections  of  the  by-gone  heat 
Came  down  to  us  ;  but  still  he  came  no  more, 
And  then  I  knew  my  destiny  was  sure. 

1  know  not  how,  at  length,  when  hope  was  gone, 

And  shame  had  grown 
Too  sharp  a  thing  to  be  endured  alone, 
I  left  the  peaceful  country  far  behind, 
And  to  the  mighty  city  came  to  find 


A   CHRISTMAS  VIGIL.  129 

Some  opiate  for  pain,  and  found  it,  too. 

Fresh  passions  grew 
Within  me  :  and  a  little  while  I  knew 
The  bitter  joys  that  set  the  blood  on  flame  : 
So  grief  slays  joy,  and  wretchedness  slays  shame. 


But  still,  through  every  feverish  night  and  day, 

The  old  love  lay 

Hot  at  my  heart,  though  he  had  gone  his  way, 
As  I  had  mine  :  sometimes  of  him  I  heard, 
And  how  the  world  was  by  his  spirit  stirred. 
Then  came  the  news,  how  he  lay  dying  here  ! 

I  shed  no  tear, 

I  only  felt  the  time  at  length  was  near, 
When  meeting  I  should  see  his  face  again, 
And  feel,  through  all,  I  had  not  lived  in  vain, 

And  now  it  is  two  nights  ago,  since  first 

With  eyes  athirst 

To  see  his  face,  resolved  to  know  the  worst, 
I  came  in  here,  and  stood  beside  his  bed  : 
No  look  he  gave  me,  and  no  word  he  said  ; 

K 


130  A  CHRISTMAS  VIGIL. 

But  I  said,  bowing  down,  and  speaking  low — 

'  Two  years  ago, 

You  slew  my  honour,  and  I  come  here  now 
To  tell  you,  whether  yet  you  die  or  live, 
Lost  as  I  am,  I  love  you,  and  forgive.' 


He  turned,  and  then  I  knew  that  he  would  speak ; 

Against  my  cheek 

Hot  beat  the  blood,  I  stood  there  dazed  and  weak ; 
He  said — '  O  face  and  voice  that  I  remember, 
'Twas  July  then,  and  now  it  is  December ; 
Poor  dove  !  that  all  God's  hawks  for  prey  have  got. 

Ah  me  !  how  hot 

This  fever  burns,  and  she  remembers  not 
The  ways  of  love  wherein  last  June  we  trod  ! 
They  work  their  will,  this  woman  and  her  God.' 

Thus,  as  towards  ending  of  his  speech  he  drew, 

I  only  knew 

Some  other  bitter  mem'ry  had  come  through 
His  thoughts  of  me,  and  set  his  soul  adrift ; 
Then,  as  he  backward  fell,  I  saw  him  lift 


A  CHRISTMAS  VIGIL.  131 

Bright  hollow  eyes  unto  the  wall,  whereon 

A  picture  shone — 

A  picture  now  that  from  the  wall  has  gone ; 
A  portrait  of  a  woman  strange  as  fair, 
With  calm  grey  eyes,  and  fitful  gold  of  hair. 


The  pale  calm  face,  immovable  and  sad, 

Such  beauty  hadr 

As  well  might  make  by  love  a  strong  man  mad. 

The  long  sweet  hands  upon  her  breast  were  laid, 

The  foil  throat  just  a  little  back  was  swayed, 

Its  firm  white  beauty  better  to  expose  > 

The  mouth  kept  close 

The  spirit's  secrets  of  all  joys  and  woes ; 

So  calm  and  still  he  lay,  I  thought  he  slept, 

Till,  bending  nearer  down,  I  knew  he  wept. 


And  then  he  said,  as  one  who  speaks  in  dreams, 

'  O  face  that  gleams 

Upon  me  when  in  sleep  my  spirit  seems 
To  walk  with  thine,  O  long-loved  love,  O  sweet, 
O  vanished  eyes,  O  unreturning  feet ! 


132  A  CHRISTMAS  VIGIL. 

1  0  heart  that  all  the  tempest  of  my  love 

Could  no  way  move  ! 

O  death,  is  not  the  end  now  sharp  enough  — 
To  love  her,  and  to  lose  her,  and  to  die, 
While  she  knows  not  how  life  is  going  by  ? 


'  Could  she  know,  all  I  think  she  would  arise, 

And  let  her  eyes, 

Wherein  the  very  calm  of  heaven  lies, 
Fall  on  my  face ;  yea,  too,  I  do  believe 
So  sweet  her  sweet  soul  is  that  she  would  grieve 
A  little  space,  in  silence  sitting  here, 

To  see  draw  near 

Death's  sea  o'er  which  no  light  and  land  appear  ; 
Yea,  too,  with  words  and  touches  she  might  make 
The  death-ward  path  smile  as  a  flowering  brake.' 


Then  all  his  love  came  on  him,  and  he  cried, — 

'  O  death !  divide 

My  soul  from  thought  of  hers ;  O  darkness  !  hide 
The  passionless  cold  face  and  speechless  mouth 
By  mine  unkissed  that  waste  my  soul  with  drought ! 


A  CHRISTMAS  VIGIL.  133 

'  O  love,  and  must  I  die  unkissed  by  thee  ? 

What  man  shall  be 

The  chosen  one  to  come  'twixt  thee  and  me  ?' 
Then  forth  into  the  air  he  stretched  his  hand, 
As  one  who,  drowning,  strives  to  reach  the  land. 


Upon  his  brow  a  trembling  hand  I  laid, 

And  tearless  said,- 

'  Lie  down  and  rest.'     Then,  as  the  rain  is  shed 
When  awful  thunder-storms  break  up  the  heat, 
My  kisses  on  his  lips  and  eyelids  beat, 
My  fingers  met  and  closed  within  his  hair, 

He  was  so  fair ; 

And,  like  the  unhoped  granting  of  a  prayer, 
Such  prayers  as  dying  men  for  life  must  pray, 
At  length  upon  my  hand  his  kisses  lay. 


Then  by  him,  bowed  with  all  my  love,  I  fell, 

-  And  cried,  "Tis  well, 
Live  yet,  and  in  thy  presence  let  me  dwell.' 
He  smiled,  and  said,  '  O  tender  hands  and  kind, 
O  lovely  worshipped  hands  that  now  I  find 


i34  A  CHRISTMAS   VIGIL. 

So  sweet,  so  sweet !  O  love,  that  bringest  bliss, 

What  joy  is  this 

To  gain  at  last  the  heaven  of  thy  kiss  ?' 
And  then  he  turned  himself,  gave  thanks  and  sighed, 
Nor  spake  again ;  and  in  the  dawn  he  died. 


My  lips  sealed  up  his  eyes,  my  hands  were  spread 

Beneath  his  head. 

I  stretched  the  lovely  limbs  upon  the  bed, 
Folded  the  wasted  hands  upon  the  breast ; 
As  there  he  lay  in  calm  and  frozen  rest, 
The  drawn  and  rigid  lips  looked  cold  and  stern, 

That  seemed  to  spurn 

All  joys  and  griefs  ;  no  soul  was  left  to  yearn 
Within  the  hollow,  dreamless,  lampless  eyes, 
Whose  death-look  said  the  dead  soul  shall  not  rise. 


I  know  not  whether  I  did  wrong  or  right, 

But  in  the  night 

I  came  into  his  room,  and  raised  the  light 
Unto  the  pictured  face  upon  the  wall 
That  looked  on  his,  and  was  not  moved  at  all ; 


A  CHRISTMAS   VIGIL.  135 

I  took  it  down,  the  face  indeed  was  fair ; 

But,  standing  there, 

I  spurned  it  with  my  foot  as  God  spurns  prayer, 
And  lacking  strength,  not  will,  to  spoil  the  face, 
I  cast  it  forth  where  none  might  know  its  grace. 


And  yet  I  think  sometimes  if  he  could  know, 

Loving  her  so, 

As  men,  O  God,  can  love  and  bear  with  woe, 

He  might  be  angry  for  the  face  downcast, 

And  for  it  come  to  hate  me  at  the  last ; 

But  now  the  heavy  tread  upon  the  stair 

Of  men  who  bear 

Some  strange  thing  up :  they  come,  they  will  not  spare. 

O  God  !  they  come,  and  now  the  door  goes  back  ; 

They  smell  of  death,  the  thing  they  bear  is  black. 


136 


SHAKE  HANDS  AND  GO. 

COME  now,  behold,  how  small  a  thing  is  love ; 
How  long  ago  is  it  since,  side  by  side, 
We  stood  together,  in  that  summer-tide, 
And  heard  the  June  sea,  blue,  and  deep,  and  wide, 

Murmuring  as  one  that  in  her  dreams  doth  move 
To  thoughts  of  love's  first  kiss  and  beauty's  pride  ? 

How  long  is  it  ?     But  one  brief  year  ago  ; 

One  autumn,  and  one  winter,  and  one  spring ; 

Now,  as  last  year,  the  birds  awake  and  sing, 

Once  more  unto  the  hills  the  hill-flowers  cling ; 
How  is  it  with  you  ?    What  heart  you  have,  I  know, 

Changes  with  every  comer  and  fresh  thing. 

And  yet,  I  think,  you  loved  me  for  a  space ; 
At  all  events  you  loved  my  love  of  you  : 


SHAKE  HANDS  AND  GO.  137 

Whether  to  me  or  that,  your  love  was  due 
I  know  not ;  while  it  lived  perchance  'twas  true ; 
But  you  forget  each  season  and  each  face, 
And  love  the  new  as  long  as  it  is  new. 


Scan  o'er  that  time,  as  at  the  close  of  day 
One  thinks  what  he  has  done  or  left  undone  ; 
Know  you  those  days  when  noontide  heats  of  sun 
Smote  full  upon  us,  and  we  strove  to  shun 

Their  flaming  force,  and  took  the  sheltered  way 
Of  shading  trees  with  green  leaves  softly  spun  ? 


There  in  an  island  of  dim  green  and  shade 

We  stretched,  while  round,  like  a  great  silent  sea, 
Lay  the  blue,  blinding,  burning  day ;  but  we 
Knew  nothing  save  our  own  life's  melody, 

And  there,  until  the  day  was  done,  delayed ; 
Then  homeward  wended  o'er  the  dewy  lea. 


Know  you  those  moonlit  nights  spent  on  the  sand- 
The  golden  sand  beside  the  lucid  deep — 


138  SHAKE  HANDS  AND  GO. 

Where  soft  waves  rippled  as  they  sang  in  sleep ; 
How  there  we  sowed  what  I  alone  shall  reap  ? 
Nay,  feign  not  thus  to  draw  away  your  hand, 
Nor  droop  your  lids ;  I  know  you  cannot  weep. 


O  pliant  crimson  lips  and  bright  cold  eyes, 

Lips  that  my  lips  have  pressed,  and  fingers  sweet 
That  lay  about  my  neck,  or  soft,  would  meet 
Around  my  eyes  to  screen  them  from  the  heat, 

Where  are  your  words,  where  is  our  paradise  ? 
Your  love  was  warm  as  summer — and  as  fleet. 


And  yet,  behold,  with  some  how  strong  is  love; 

How  helpless  is  the  dupe  that  boasts  a  heart ! 

I  know  you  now — and  yet  regret  to  part : 

Fairer  than  ever,  in  the  marriage  mart 
You'll  fetch  your  price ;  time's  dealings  that  are  rough 

With  nature,  leave  untouched  the  works  of  art. 


Well,  kiss  once  more  as  in  the  gone-by  time, 
Let  your  hair  mix  with  mine,  take  hands  again  ; 


SHAKE  HANDS  AND  GO.  139 

Your  kiss  is  sweet — and  do  you  only  feign  ? 
There,  look  once  more  on  jutting  cliff  and  main ; 
And  now  go  hence,  while  I  in  some  sad  rhyme 
Weave  our  love's  tale — its  brief  joy,  lasting  pain. 


Go,  go  thy  way  ;  return  not  to  the  gates 

Of  the  fair  past,  forsake  the  dear  dead  days ; 
I  know  thou  wilt.     I  to  some  distant  place 
May  wander  and  forget  your  voice  and  face  : 

No  anger,  say  '  Good-bye  !'     I  know  one  waits  : 
He  paid  his  price  and  for  his  purchase  stays. 


140 


TO  A  CHILD. 

I  KISS  you,  dear,  and  very  sweet  is  this, 
To  feel  you  are  not  tainted  by  my  kiss  ; 

Cling  with  your  warm  soft  arms  about  me  so, 
Give  me  one  small  sweet  kiss  and  murmur  low, 
In  speech  as  sweet  as  broken  music  is. 

How  long  shall  God  my  Lily  darling  give 
Untainted  by  the  shrieking  world  to  live, 
I  cannot  tell;  but  this  my  wish  shall  be, 
Longer  at  least  than  God  has  given  me, 
But  still  be  glad ;  as  yet,  you  need  not  grieve. 

There,  see,  I  put  the  hair  back  from  your  face, 
And  if  my  lips  in  kissing  should  displace 

Your  sunny  hair,  you  will  but  laugh,  my  child, 
A  babbling  silver  laugh  and  undefiled. 
God  keep  it  so,  through  the  all-ruling  days. 


TO  A  CHILD.  141 

But,  I,  who  in  the  darkness  sit  alone, 
With  heart  that,  once  rebellious,  now  has  grown 
Too  weak  to  strive  with  foes  that  smite  unseen, 
Will  only  ask  you  once  your  head  to  lean 
Upon  a  heart  where  grief  has  made  his  throne. 

I  will  not  tell  you  of  the  things  I  know, 
I  cannot  bar  the  path  that  you  must  go ; 

God's  bitter  lesson  must  be  learnt  by  all, 

But  living,  I  will  listen  to  your  call, 
And  stretch  to  you  a  hand  that  you  may  know. 

You  feel  the  wind  against  you  as  you  run, 
And  love  its  strength,  and  revel  in  the  sun  ; 
So  once  did  I,  and  but  for  this  last  blow, 
Of  which  none  know  save  me,  so  might  I  now ; 
But  now  for  me  the  light  of  life  is  done. 

These  little  hands  that  lose  themselves  in  mine, 
May  some  day  haply  in  a  man's  hair  twine 
While  'neath  their  touch  his  heart  shall  palpitate, 
Then  shall  this  soul  with  triumph  be  elate 
And  mix  sharp  poison  in  a  maddening  wine. 


142  TO  A  CHILD. 

But  see  you  keep  your  lips  from  tasting  sweet, 
For  it  begets  within  us  such  a  heat, 

As  cooling  waters  never  can  allay. 

We  see,  through  mists  of  blood  and  tears,  the  day, 
Until  we  sicken  for  the  nightfall's  feet. 

There,  there,  you're  weary,  and  I  let  you  go, 
But  this  kiss,  softer  than  a  flake  of  snow, 

I  will  remember  when  alone  I  stand. 

I  wonder  will  you  ever  understand 
The  reason  why  I  loved  and  kissed  you  so. 


143 


A  SONG  OF  THE  STORM. 

ACROSS  the  barren  moor 
We  hear  the  breakers  roar, 
See  them  shine  upon  the  shore  ; 

Hear,  loud,  the  sea-gulls  cry  : 
The  wind  blows  loud  and  shrill, 
The  sea  heaves  hill  on  hill, 
Moonlight  and  tempest  fill 

The  pure  and  stormy  sky. 

'Neath  clashing  winds  of  night 
The  sea  revels  in  its  might, 
And  clear  the  pale,  blown  light 

Of  driven  billows  gleams. 
O  bright,  tempestuous  sea ! 
From  whose  gaping  foam-mouths  flee 
Ships  hunted  to  the  lea, 

As  souls  by  evil  dreams. 


144  A  SONG  OF  THE  STORM. 

If  only  I  might  share 
That  strife  of  sea,  and  air, 
Nobly  to  do  and  dare 

Would  make  my  heart  rise  high, 
As  a  martial  soul's  desire, 
That,  at  sound  of  trump  and  lyre, 
Breaks  into  flower  of  fire, 

While  the  wind  of  sound  goes  by. 


O  women  with  rent  hair, 

The  wind  beats  back  your  prayer, 

Which  may  not  reach  to  where 

The  loved  ones  strive  for  life. 
Can  all  your  tears  appease 
The  anger  of  the  seas, 
Or  make  a  night  of  peace, 

With  sea  and  wind  at  strife  ! 


Sea-shrieks  come  loud  and  long, 
Through  the  thunder  and  the  song 
Of  breakers  white  and  strong, 
Exploding  on  the  land. 


A  SONG  OF  THE  STORM.  145 

Against  the  cliffs  the  wind 
Strikes  madly,  being  blind, 
What  shall  the  day-break  find 
Upon  the  barren  strand  ? 


O  white  and  windy  deep, 
How  many  millions  sleep 
'Neath  thy  valley  and  thy  steep ; 

O  bright  careering  sea ! 
O  white,  warm,  bubbling  spray, 
Blown  hissing  all  one  way, — 
O  loud,  resounding  bay  ! 

O  lorn  and  stricken  lea  ! 

Thou,  God,  in  whose  clear  sight 
The  day  is  as  the  night, 
Man's  weakness  as  his  might, 

The  tempest  works  Thy  will, 
Obeys,  is  stayed  by  Thee  : 
Say  to  the  wind  and  sea, 
Peace  !  and  a  calm  let  be, 

And  all  the  tumult  still. 


146 


THE  LAST  REVEL. 

So  now  our  one  month's  love  is  done. 

Good-bye,  my  love  !  good-bye  ! 
Before  to-morrow's  burning  sun 

Flames  golden  in  the  sky, 
We  shall  be  far  apart,  my  sweet, 
No  more,  no  more  to  meet. 

How  well  I  know  this  chamber,  dear, 

A  blaze  of  mirrors  tall ; 
The  lattice  too,  wherethrough  we  hear 

The  sighing  water  fall 
Upon  the  steps  that  from  the  sea 
Lead  up,  my  love,  to  thee. 


THE  LAST  REVEL.  147 

Lo !  how  the  softened  lamp-light  rests 

Upon  your  gleaming  hair ; 
Upon  your  splendid  foam-white  breasts, 

Bright  shoulders  curved  and  bare. 
Let 's  fill  once  more  the  goblet  up, 
And  kiss  across  the  cup. 

How  hushed  the  great  warm  heavens  are  ; 

The  sultry  moonlight  lies 
Upon  the  sea,  and  one  vast  star 

Possesses  all  the  skies. 
Down  the  dim  water  streets  we  see 
The  boats  glide  dreamily. 

Sing  me  again  the  song  I  heard 

You  sing  that  first  sweet  night, 
When,  to  my  senses  stained  and  blurred, 

O'er  wastes  of  glaring  light, 
In  all  the  glory  of  the  song, 
Your  voice  came  clear  and  strong. 

But  first  from  instruments  there  stole 
Strange  music,  soft  and  low. 


1 48  THE  LAST  RE  VEL. 

I  felt  through  all  my  wearied  soul 

The  gentle  music  flow : 
And  in  the  tender  harmonies 
My  heart  lay  faint  with  peace. 

And  when  again  you  sing  that  song, 
And  all  men  cry  your  name, 

Some  thought  of  me  may  lurk  among 
The  thoughts  of  gold  and  fame  ; 

You  may  perchance  recall  this  night, 

And  all  our  past  delight. 

You  say  you  will  remember  well ; 

The  speech  sounds  sweet  and  smooth, 
And  though  I  know  for  gold  you  sell 

The  kisses  of  your  mouth, 
Your  eyes  keen  fires,  your  hair's  bright  hue, 
Yet  still  it  may  be  true. 

And  so  you  thought  me  cold  at  first, 
My  calm  eyes  chilled  your  bliss  ; 

But  when  you  saw  my  lips  athirst 
To  taste  your  longed-for  kiss, 


THE  LAST  RE  VEL.  149 

You  found  me  better,  did  you  not  ? 
Girls  like  a  man's  blood  hot. 

But  when  the  passion  fades  away, 
The  chill  comes  back,  you  think  j 

'  Strange  was  that  Englishman/  you'll  say ; 
'  He  kissed,  and  he  could  drink, 

And  in  the  middle  of  a  feast 

Be  solemn  as  a  priest." 

And  did  it  never  strike  you,  love, 

That  in  his  heart  might  be, 
That  which  your  kiss  was  not  enough 

To  banish  utterly ; 

A  thought  he  could  not  quite  shut  out, 
Yet  could  not  speak  about  ? 

How  if  grief  snared  him  in  his  land. 

And  tracked  him  o'er  the  sea  ? 
A  grief  from  whose  relentless  hand 

He  never  might  get  free ; 
A  grief  that  slept  not  in  the  night, 
But  murdered  all  delight. 


1 50  THE  LAST  RE  VEL. 

A  grief,  which,  when  you  sang  your  best, 
Outsang  you  with  its  voice, 

Chanting  in  pain,  and  long  unrest, 
Its  dirge  for  buried  joys ; 

A  sadder  song  than  ever  man 

Sang  since  the  world  began. 

I  do  not  say  it  is  so,  mind, 

Only,  if  so  it  be, 
You  might  perchance  some  reason  find 

To  wonder  less  at  me ; 
But  vain  to  speak  to  you  of  this, 
Who  sell,  not  give,  love's  kiss. 

I  take  you  in  my  arms  again ; 

O  shoulders  bright  and  smooth, 
Soft  throat  whereon  my  kisses  rain, 

Keen  eyes  and  glowing  mouth  ; 
Once  more  I  feel  a  strong  blood  yearn 

Within  my  veins,  and  burn. 

What  is  the  gift  you  give  to  me, 
And  what  the  gift  I  give  ? 


THE  LAST  RE  VEL.  1 5 1 

I  hold  the  right  your  face  to  see 

As  long  as  I  shall  live, 
And  you  this  bracelet  like  a  snake, 
To  wear  a  day  —  and  break. 


152 


THE  GARDEN. 

'Tis  easy  of  one  thing  divine 

A  smooth  and  pleasant  song  to  sing, 
Perchance  some  small  strength  might  be  mine 

In  worthy  verse  to  praise  the  Spring. 
But  where  all  different  beauties  meet, 

As  in  the  subject  of  this  rhyme, 
My  song  would  almost  make  retreat 

Much  wanting  strength,  more  wanting  time. 

Each  look,  each  grace,  each  smile,  each  tone, 

Long  years  of  sacred  labour  ask. 
And  then  by  failure  should  be  shown 

The  greatness  of  the  hopeless  task  ; 
For  failure  here  more  than  success 

Is  the  best  tribute  man  can  pay  ; 
Words  fail  the  spirit  to  express 

And  baffled  homage  owns  dismay. 


THE  GARDEN.  153 

Yet  look  a  little  up,  my  song, 

Compose  yourself  to  some  sweet  tune, 

Think  of  the  shining  days  and  long, 
The  splendour  of  the  summer  noon, 

The  warm  still  garden,  flushed  and  fair, 
Full  of  the  summer's  tender  noise, 

While  flowers  with  scent  beguile  the  air, 

For  perfume  is  the  rose's  voice. 

i 

Seems  she  not  such  a  garden  meet? 

Gracious  and  happy  giving  bliss, 
A  garden  where  all  beauties  meet 

Of  every  sound  and  scent  that  is, 
With  roses  and  with  lilies  white 

That  garden  is  most  fair  to  see ; 
With  flying  music  and  sweet  light 

More  fair  than  earthly  gardens  be. 

Yet  is  this  but  one  lovely  phase  ; 

For,  as  that  garden  is  in  spring 
When  all  the  wind-clad  laughing  days 

Come  dancing  down  the  land,  and  bring 
The  warm  sweet  rainy  gusty  smell 

Of  violets  blowing  fresh  and  free, 


i54  THE  GARDEN. 

While  birds  with  high  clear  voices  swell 
The  west  winds'  waving  minstrelsy ; 

So  in  her  lighter  moods  she  seems, 

Yet  none  can  deem,  no  man  can  say 
Which  of  her  many  moods  he  deems 

Would  be  most  sweet  his  soul  to  slay. 
Alas,  it  matters  not  at  all, 

Hers  is  the  noble  victory ; 
Our  souls  must  bow,  our  hearts  must  fall, 

In  most  divine  captivity. 

The  gods  determined  at  her  birth 

To  make  one  soul  which  should  o'er-reign 
All  other  souls  upon  the  earth, 

Therefore  all  singing  is  in  vain. 
The  gods  rose  up,  '  'Tis  good,'  they  said, 

'  Though  all  you  poets  say  'tis  wrong, 
That  we  so  fair  a  thing  have  made 

Which  art  defies  and  baffles  song.' 


155 


A  MEDLEY. 

A  LILY  are  you  ?  such  you  seem, 
A  lily  brimmed  with  dew  and  scent ; 

With  languid,  listless  leaves  that  gleam, 
By  heat  made  sweetly  indolent, 
While  all  the  sky  with  love  is  hot, 
Such  love  as  Earth  remembers  not 

When  June  is  but  a  lovely  dream. 

You  seem  in  soul  a  panther  bright, 
With  velvet  paws,  but  made  to  slay ; 

A  lily  laughing  in  the  light, 
A  panther  seeking  after  prey  : 
A  panther  fair,  with  noiseless  tread, 
A  lily,  with  bowed  stem,  and  head, 

Lapped  in  the  loveliness  of  night. 


156  A  MEDLEY. 

So  very  fair,  the  smallest  thing 

On  which  you  look  at  once  looks  fair  ; 

And  but  to  hear  you  play  and  sing, 
Would  make  with  envy  Orpheus  swear. 
Forgive  me,  if  I  leave  a  space, 
The  lily  and  the  panther  phase, 

Your  touch,  and  voice  remembering. 

To  be  of  all  men's  hearts  the  Queen 
Is  surely,  lady,  good  enough ; 

Your  looks  are  sweet,  your  words  are  keen, 
To  first  exalt,  then  humble  love. 
'Tis  better  far  to  worship  thee 
Than  Venus,  old  world  deity, 

Whose  loveliness  is  praised  unseen. 

And  men  years  hence  shall  know  you  as 
One  lily-formed  and  panther-souled, 

The  gods  themselves  did  quite  surpass 
Your  spirit  and  your  form  to  mould. 
They  made  you  as  a  poet  makes 
His  best  rhyme  when  his  hand  so  shakes 

It  scarce  can  hold  the  pen  or  glass. 


A  MEDLEY.  157 

More  clear  than  notes  of  music  be 

Your  voice,  in  no  two  words  the  same  ; 
A  sudden  burst  of  melody 

To  glorify  with  sound  a  name  ? 

With  ear  and  eye  assailed  at  once, 

Against  such  fatal  needle-guns 
The  man  who  would  be  safe  must  flee. 

A  poem  with  a  double  sense, 

A  joy,  a  grief,  a  tiger-lily, 
With  images  I  now  dispense  ; 

My  flower  I  leave  in  the  wild  nook  hilly, 

In  the  forest  the  panther  fleet, 

My  song  is  kneeling  at  your  feet, 
Give  it  one  smile  for  recompense. 

A  curious  medley  is  this  verse 

Of  lilies,  poets,  panthers,  guns, 
I  may  sing  better  or  sing  worse, 

But  no  more  thus  my  swift  verse  runs ; 

For  soon  I  write  a  song  most  fit 

To  be  in  ladies'  albums  writ 
And  read  by  all  the  universe. 


BEFORE  BATTLE. 

HERE  in  this  place,  where  none  can  see, 
Lean  out  your  throat,  and  let  us  kiss  ; 

Who  knows,  to-morrow  I  may  be, 
As  far  from  any  joy  like  this, 

As  is  my  own  sea-beaten  strand, 

From  this  fair  land. 


She  put  the  hair  back  from  her  face, 
And  kissed  him  on  his  eager  mouth  ; 

Her  kiss  was  warm,  and  long  her  gaze, 
He  felt  the  passion  of  his  youth 

Burn  fierce  through  every  thrilling  vein, 
Till  it  was  pain. 


BEFORE  BATTLE.  159 

He  filled  for  her  a  cup  of  wine, 

The  sparkling  wine  as  red  as  blood, 
She  quickly  drank,  and  for  a  sign 

He  kissed  its  edge,  as  saints  the  rood, 
Before  Death  plucks  their  souls  away, 
Too  faint  to  pray. 


He  said,  '  O  love,  the  wine  is  sweet, 
But,  sweet,  thy  kiss  is  sweeter  still ! ' 

She  flushed,  with  sudden  joy  and  heat, 
She  said,  '  O  love,  then  take  thy  fill 

Of  both  these  things,  for  both  thine  are, 
Before  the  war.' 


Another  cup  of  wine  he  quaffed, 
Then  in  his  arms  her  form  he  pressed, 

He  murmured  low ;  she  sighed  and  laughed, 
And  they  clung  fiercely  breast  to  breast : 

While  all  her  hair  fell  round  his  face, 
Her  love  to  grace. 


160  BEFORE  BATTLE. 

She  thrilled  with  passion,  till  her  lips 
Could  nothing  do,  but  kiss  and  cleave, 

Their  souls  were  like  sea-driven  ships  ; 
He  felt  her  swelling  bosom  heave ; 

His  lips  her  lips  with  kisses  flaked, 

•    Till  both  lips  ached. 


His  face  above  her  fair,  flushed  face, 
Now  seemed  a  thing  to  wonder  on ; 

Her  soul  was  ravished  by  his  gaze, 

Her  warm,  wet  eye-lids  shook  and  shone, 

Till,  leaning  back,  for  pure  delight, 

She  laughed  outright. 


He  wrung  her  long  sweet  fingers  out, 
He  strained  the  passion  at  her  mouth, 

Her  hair  was  all  his  face  about, 
O  life  to  life  !    O  youth  to  youth  ! 

O  sea  of  joy,  whose  foam  is  fire  ! 
O  great  desire  ! 


BEFORE  BATTLE.  161 

But,  suddenly,  a  sharp  shrill  sound 

Cut  like  a  sword  their  dear  delight ; 
Once  more  his  arms  about  her  wound, 

They  felt  their  pulses  beat  and  smite. 
At  last  he  said,  in  accents  low, 

'The  foe!  the  foe!' 


Then  quickly  from  her  arms  he  sprang ; 

For  all  the  night-black  winding  street 
With  clash  of  deadly  weapons  rang, 

And  sudden  storm  of  passing  feet ; 
She  heard  the  thunder  of  the  drum. 

Her  lips  grew  dumb. 


'  O  one  night's  love !     Good-bye  ! '  he  said, 
And  kissed  her  on  the  lips,  and  passed. 

She  heard  his  quick,  departing  tread, 
She  saw  the  torches  glare  at  last, 

She  saw  the  street  grow  light  as  day, 
And  swooned  away 


i62  BEFORE  BATTLE. 

An  hour  afterwards,  or  more, 

With  stormy  music,  loud  and  long, 

With  light  behind,  and  light  before, 

The  men  marched  down,  an  arme'd  throng : 

And  as  they  passed,  he  saw  her  light 
Still  burning  bright. 


She  from  her  chamber-window  leant, 
Deep  down  into  the  street  to  gaze  ; 

Her  head  upon  her  hands  was  bent : 
He  looked,  but  could  not  see  her  face  ; 

But  still  he  thought,  through  sound  and  flame, 
She  cried  his  name. 


She  watched  the  torches  fade  away, 
She  listened  till  the  street  grew  still, 

Then  back  upon  her  bed  she  lay, 

Of  her  own  thoughts  to  drink  her  fill ; 

And  afterwards,  when  others  wept, 
She  only  slept. 


BEFORE  BATTLE,  163 

Next  night  she  revelled  in  the  dance, 
She  quaffed  her  wine,  she  sang  her  song  ; 

While  he,  with  soldier's  .eyes  askance, 
And  heart  with  lust  of  slaying  strong, 

Leaped  laughing  into  battle's  hell, 

And  struck  and  fell ! 


164 


UPON  THE  SHORE. 

ALL,  love,  is  as  it  was  this  time  last  year, 
When  we  together  stood  as  now  we  stand, 
By  the  same  sea,  on  the  same  curving  strand  ; 
And,  as  last  year  we  heard,  as  now  we  hear, 
The  rippling  of  the  water  cool  and  clear ! 

The  old  grief  still  goes  with  me  near  and  far, 
Like  the  sweet  burden  of  a  mournful  air 
Full  of  the  sadness  of  unanswered  prayer, 
Not  sad  with  discords  strange  that  strike  and  jary 
But  sad  as  early  autumn  twilights  are. 

And  you  ?     You  know  I  do  not  blame  you,  sweet 
My  lot  was  sore  and  had  but  little  ease, 
And  his  was  smooth  and  soft,  a  path  of  peace ; 
Ah,  well  it  was,  love,  that  the  path  was  smooth 
For  your  soft  beauty  and  your  untried  youth. 


UPON  THE  SHORE.  165 

Let  us  recall  the  past  a  little  space — 
That  night  of  summer  storm  when  on  the  shore, 
We  heard  athwart  the  sea  the  thunder  roar, 

And  sound  of  rising  wind,  and  saw  the  blaze 

Of  lightning  all  about  the  sea-girt  place. 

That  night  you  leaned  your  head  upon  my  breast, 
And  now  upon  another  breast  you  lean ; 
O  days  gone  by,  O  days  that  might  have  been ! 
To  love  is  good  no  doubt,  but  you  love  best, 
A  calm  safe  life  with  wealth,  and  ease,  and  rest. 

Gifts  he  will  bring  no  doubt,  each  mood  to  please, 
And  make  life  soft  and  pleasant  for  your  feet, 
But  will  he  give  you  love  like  mine,  O  sweet, 
From  which  my  heart  can  never  know  release 
Till  death  and  darkness  bring  me  perfect  peace  ? 

Nay,  let  us  once  take  hands  before  we  part, 
You  bore,  half  prized,  my  love  a  little  while, 
'Twos  something  that  long  summer  to  beguile  ! 
There,  see  I  kiss  the  hand  that  cast  the  dart, 
You  gave  me  grief  and  I  gave  you  my  heart ! 


i66 


WAITING. 

WHEN  shall  I  see  that  land  where  I  would  tread 

That  shrine  where  I  would  fain  bow  knee  and  head  ? 

In  autumn — ere  the  autumn  pass,  I  said ; 

In  winter — ere  the  winter  time  is  sped, 

In  spring — ere  yet  spring's  fair  sweet  feet  are  fled, 

In  summer — ere  the  summer  time  is  shed — 

And  now  I  say,  perchance  when  I  am  dead. 


i67 


IN  PRAISE  OF. 

WHAT  thing  is  there  on  earth  to  which  I  can 
My  love  compare  ? 

So  far  she  is  beyond  all  praise  of  man, 
That  speech  is  bare, 
To  say  how  fair, 

She  is  beyond  comparison. 

Her  nature  seems  like  some  warm  summer  sea, 
That  bears  alone 

The  utmost  glory,  and  the  majesty 
Of  all  the  sun, 
Till  day  be  done ; 

Then  takes  the  stars  for  company. 

As  children  who  for  cooling  waters  crave, 
On  some  hot  day ; 


1 68  IN  PRAISE  OF. 

And  in  the  ebb  of  the  retreating  wave, 
Are  glad  to  play, 
And  feel  the  spray, 

Their  gleaming,  panting  bodies  lave. 

So  in  the  shallows  of  her  nature,  we 
Are  glad  to  move. 

I  know  not  if  on  earth  a  man  there  be 

Found  strong  enough, 
The  depths  thereof 

To  reach,  in  calm  security. 

Yea,  all  the  music  of  a  summer  deep, 
Her  tones  possess ; 

Such  melody  as  comes  when  light  winds  sleep 
And  souls  confess 
Joy's  keen  excess, 

In  tears  'that  are  most  sweet  to  weep. 

O  deep  kind  sea !  O  passionate  strong  sea  ! 
Thy  deep  tiftes  flow 

'Twixt  God's  vast  life,  and  our  mortality. 
Yet  who  shall  know, 
Where  thy  waves  go, 

For  few  know  where  the  strand  may  be. 


IN  GRIEF. 

WITH  thee  so  vanished  our  life's  light  has  flown, 
A  sudden  night  has  fallen  on  the  day — 
A  cheerless,  moonless  night  with  no  white  way 
Of  stars  that  lead  to  lands  of  men  unknown. 

A  night  wherein  the  winds  of  grief  are  loud, 
A  night  made  black  with  sorrow  as  a  cloud, 
A  night  that  wraps  its  darkness  as  a  shroud 
Around  a  world  now  sad,  and  cold,  and  gray. 

God  fashioned  thee  and  gave  thy  spirit  birth 
To  ease  a  little  our  sore  load  of  pain ; 
More  sweet  to  us  thy  love  was  than  the  rain 
Is  after  long,  hot  days  to  burnt-up  earth. 
Thou  wert  a  refuge  in  a  stormy  deep, 
From  thee  there  flowed  a  peace  like  conscious  sleep. 
I  will  not  sow  sweet  things  who  may  not  reap, 
I  will  not  strive  who  nothing  here  may  gain. 


1 70  IN  GRIEF. 

As  is  to  one  within  his  dungeon's  gloom 
A  sudden  burst  of  music  and  of  light, 
Cleaving  the  darkness,  trancing  ear  and  sight, 
Making  resplendent  what  is  still  his  tomb ; 
So  living  to  my  prisoned  soul  thou  wert ; 
Now  all  once  more  is  dark  about  my  heart, 
No  light,  nor  any  sound  its  depth  shall  part, 
And  there  shall  be  no  daybreak  to  this  night. 


Now  all  is  done ;  no  more  is  left  to  do  : 
A  space  we  stood  together  on  life's  shore 
Waving  weak  hands  to  those  who  went  before ; 
Thou  knowest  now  if  heavenly  skies  are  blue, 
Thou  knowest  if  the  after  world  is  sweet, 
Dost  thou  tread  light  or  darkness  'neath  thy  feet  ? 
When  with  weak  hands  upon  the  gate  we  beat 
Will  it  be  opened,  or  closed  evermore  ? 


And  shall  we  meet  with  lips  that  yearn  to  kiss, 
Meet  soul  to  soul  as  face  to  face  on  earth? 
And  shall  there  be  an  end  of  death  and  dearth, 

Yea,  shall  there  be  a  harvest  time  of  bliss, 


IN  GRIEF.  171 

And  shall  we  stand  together  side  by  side 
Never  again  to  sorrow  or  divide  ? 
And  shall  at  length  our  hearts  be  satisfied 
Full  of  the  wonder  of  the  second  birth  ? 


Shall  this  life  past  be  as  a  dream  outdreamed, 
The  ghastly  fancy  of  a  fevered  brain  ? 
Shall  we  at  all  remember  the  old  pain 
So  great  it  past  all  human  bearing  seemed  ? 
If  angels  tell  us  of  that  mournful  time, 
Will  it  then  sound  but  as  an  empty  rhyme 
Made  by  a  boy  in  some  forgotten  clime  ? 
Ah,  shall  we  say  we  have  not  lived  in  vain  ? 


Shall  we  stand  up  before  the  face  of  God, 

Stand  up  and  sing  a  loud,  glad  song  of  praise, 
And  bless  him  for  the  sorrow  of  our  days, 
And  kiss  with  pure  cold  lips  the  burning  rod 
Wherewith  he  hath  so  stricken  us  that  we 
Might  come  at  length  within  his  home  to  be, 
Laid  in  the  light  of  his  divinity, 
First  blinded  by  the  glory  of  his  face  ? 


1 72  IN  GRIEF. 

Oh,  strange  and  unseen  lund  whereto  we  come, 
Are  thy  shores  shores  of  day  or  shores  of  night  ? 
As  near  we  draw  shall  we  indeed  see  light, 
And  shall  we  hear,  through  lessening  wind  and  foam, 
The  voice  of  her  we  love  come  from  the  land, 
And,  looking  shorewards,  shall  we  see  her  stand 
Girt  round  with  glory  on  a  peaceful  strand, 
Smiling  to  see  our  dark  skiff  heave  in  sight  ? 

I  cannot  know ;  there  is  no  man  who  knows ; 
We  are  and  we  are  not,  and  that  is  all 
The  knowledge  which  to  any  may  befall : 
We  know  not  life's  beginning  nor  life's  close, 

'Twixt  dawn  and  twilight  shine  the  sunny  hours 
Wherein  some  hands  plucked  thorns  and  some  hands 

flowers, 

'Twixt  light  and  shade  are  shed  the  sudden  showers ; 
Yet  night  shall  cover  earth  as  with  a  pall. 

Sadder  than  all  thou  art,  O  song  of  mine, 
Because  thou  callest  vainly  on  her  name, 
Because  thou  fain  wouldst  rise  and  sudden  flame 

Before  God's  face  and  her  face  most  divine, 


IN  GRIEF.  173 

And  tell  her  of  the  bitter  grief  we  feel, 
And  pray  her  by  some  sweet  sign  to  reveal 
The  land  which  God  and  darkness  so  conceal — 
Say  where  our  sorrows  lead  and  whence  they  came. 

O  saddest  of  sad  songs  by  sad  lips  sung, 

Fresh  hopes  may  rise,  fresh  passions  snakelike  hiss, 
Or  fresh  illusions  find  fresh  rods  to  kiss; 
But  joy  is  fleet  and  memory  is  long. 

And  on  the  fair  sweet  reaches  of  the  past, 
Lovely  and  still,  for  evermore  is  cast 
A  sad  and  sacred  light  which  shall  outlast 
The  fierce  and  short-lived  glare  of  summer  bliss. 

Alas,  poor  song,  all  singing  is  in  vain, 

What  thing  more  sad  is  left  for  thee  to  say  ? 
Oh,  weary  time  of  life  and  weary  way, 
Can  dead  souls  rise  or  gone  joys  come  again  ? 
Now  by  the  hand  of  sorrow  are  we  led, 
Though  sweet  things  come,  they  come  as  joys  born 

dead; 

Let  us  arise,  go  hence,  for  all  is  said, 
And  we  must  bide  the  breaking  of  the  day. 


MISCELLANEOUS   SONNETS. 


SONNETS.  177 


BEREFT. 

I  WILL  not  mock  thy  memory  most  dear, 

By  striving  to  describe  what  soul  was  thine, 

A  soul  which  never  more  shall  look  on  mine. 

I  cannot  talk  of  any  higher  sphere, 

Nor  can  I  make  the  utter  darkness  clear ; 

I  know  no  God,  I  worship  at  no  shrine, 

I  only  bow  before  thy  life  divine  ! 

I  will  not  tell  of  voices  that  I  hear, 

I  will  not  tell  of  secret  bitter  tears  ; 

I  will  not  tell  of  desolated  years, 

Of  sunless  springs  that  come  to  ravaged  lands, 

Of  altered  seas  that  break  on  altered  strands  : 

My  heart  has  only  room  this  thing  to  know, 

Thou  once  wast  with  me,  and  thou  art  not  now. 


1 78  SONNETS. 


TO 


O  YEAR  !  while  others  crowned  with  pleasure  sit 
To  watch  thee  slowly,  darkly  pass  away, 
To  thee,  so  dying,  I  at  least  will  say, 
O  bitter  year,  that  with  remorseless  feet 
Didst  tread  down  all  whereby  ray  life  grew  sweet, 
Didst  thou  not  turn  the  golden  into  grey 
And  snatch  the  very  sunlight  from  my  day  ? 
Yet,  now  that  thou  art  dying,  it  is  meet 
That  ere  thou  goest  quite,  for  one  sweet  thing, 
One,  only  one,  I  give  thee  thanks,  O  year ! 
The  knowledge  of  a  friend,  now  found  so  dear 
That  she  a  little  can  bring  back  the  spring 
To  fields  that  seem  forgotten  of  the  light — 
A  star  to  bless  my  moon-deserted  night. 


SONNETS.  179 


DESOLATE. 

I  STRAIN  my  worn-out  sight  across  the  sea, 

I  hear  the  wan  waves  sobbing  on  the  strand, 

My  eyes  grow  weary  of  the  sea  and  land, 

Of  the  wide  deep  and  the  forsaken  lea  : 

Ah  !  love,  return  !  ah  !  love,  come  back  to  me  ! — 

As  well  these  ebbing  waves  I  might  command, 

To  turn  and  kiss  the  moist  deserted  sand  ! 

The  joy  that  was,  is  not,  and  cannot  be. 

The  salt  shore,  furrowed  by  the  foam,  smells  sweet, 

Oh  !  blest  for  me,  if  it  were  now  my  lot, 

To  make  this  shore  my  rest,  and  hear  all  strife 

Die  out  like  yon  tide's  faint  receding  beat : 

If  he  forgot  so  easily  in  life, 

I  may  in  death  forget  that  he  forgot. 


i8o  SONNETS. 


FORSAKEN. 

WOULD  God  that  I  were  dead  and  no  more  known, 
Forgotten  underneath  the  deep  cold  main, 
Freed  from  the  thrill  of  joy  and  sting  of  pain; 
There  I  should  be  with  silence  all  alone, 
To  weep  no  more  for  any  sweet  day  flown  ! 
I  should  not  see  the  shining  summer  wane, 
Nor  feel  the  blasting  winter  come  again, 
Nor  hear  the  autumn  winds  grow  strong  and  moan ; 
But  time,  like  sea-mist  screening  the  far  deep, 
Should  make  each  hated  and  loved  object  dim, 
And  I  should  gaze  on  both  with  hazy  sight ; 
God  granting  this,  I  should  no  longer  weep, 
But,  wearied,  rest  beneath  the  clear  green  light, 
And  surely  lose  in  sleep  all  thoughts  of  him  ! 


SONNETS.  181 


FIRST  AND  LAST  KISS. 

THY  lips  are  quiet,  and  thine  eyes  are  still, 
Cold,  colourless,  and  sad  thy  placid  face, 
Thy  form  has  only  now  the  statue's  grace ; 
My  words  wake  not  thy  voice,  nor  can  they  fill 
Thine  eyes  with  light.     Before  fate's  mighty  will, 
( )ur  wills  must  bow ;  yet  for  a  little  space, 
I  sit  with  thee  and  death  in  this  lone  place ; 
And  hold  thy  hands  that  are  so  white  and  chill. 
I  always  loved  thee,  which  thou  didst  not  know, 
Though  well  he  knew  whose  wedded  love  thou  wcrt 
Now  thou  art  dead,  I  may  raise  up  the  fold 
That  hides  thy  face,  and,  by  thee  bending  low, 
For  the  first  time  and  last  before  we  part, 
Kiss  the  curved  lips — calm,  beautiful,  and  cold  .' 


1 82  SONNETS. 


NOT  LIVED  IN  VAIN. 

HAVE  I  not  worshipped  thee  in  tender  lays, 

And  told  in  barren  rhymes  my  love  for  thee  ; 

And  now  I  wish  that  I  no  more  might  see, 

Or  ne'er  had  seen  your  fair,  alluring  face ; 

Or,  as  a  tune  felt  your  lithe  body's  grace 

Melt  through  my  heart  that  leap'd  up  eagerly 

With  joy  of  hope ;  now  hope  no  more  may  be ; 

For  hope  lies  dead,  amid  the  dear,  dead  days. 

Still,  if  the  bitterness  of  unshed  tears, 

And  burden  of  a  spirit  sorely  tried, 

Did  e'er  with  joy  of  maiden's  victory  fill 

Thy  woman's  heart,  then  surely  these  sad  years 

Have  been  well  lived,  nor,  sweet,  would  I  have  died, 

Till  thy  heart  had  of  mine,  its  perfect  will. 


SONNETS.  183 


CHANGELESS. 

THE  Spring,  a  maiden  beautiful  and  pure, 

Wearies  of  earth,  and  leaves  the  happy  lea ; 

The  stormy  winds  grow  weary  of  the  sea ; 

The  sailor  lad  grows  weary  of  the  shore, 

Tunes  that  charmed  once  fail  always  to  allure. 

Weary  we  grow  of  grief  and  too  much  glee, 

We  weary  captive,  and  we  weary  free  : 

Suns  set,  moons  rise,  the  stars  do  not  endure. 

Let  this  be  as  it  is ;  but  this  I  know, 

Though  life,  grown  weary,  parts  at  length  from  me, 

Though  joy  remembered  turns  to  deepest  woe, 

Yea,  though  as  one  our  lives  may  never  be  ; 

Through  life,  in  death,  where  none  may  reap  or  sow, 

My  love,  O  sweet,  shall  weary  not  of  thee. 


1 84  SONNETS. 


ACROSS  SEAS. 

TO  BJORNSTERN  BJORNSON,  AUTHOR  OF  '  ARNE.' 
I. 

I,  TOILING  here  through  many  weary  days, 

Turn  from  the  extreme  bitterness  of  pain, 

As  turns  a  journeying  sailor  from  the  main, 

In  middle  sea  to  rest,  a  little  space, 

On  some  soft  island  where  his  hands  may  raise, 

'Twixt  land  and  sea  a  rough  and  rocky  fane, 

Whereat  his  God  to  worship,  ere  again 

Unto  the  stormy  waves  he  sets  his  face. 

So,  ere  I  pass,  a  little  yet  I  turn, 

And  raise,  apart  from  all,  to  thee  a  shrine, 

And  render  homage  in  these  trembling  lays, 

Which,  could  they  higher  rise,  and  clearer  burn, 

Might  reach  a  little  from  my  soul  to  thine, 

Not  past  man;s  worship,  but  beyond  man's  praise. 


SONNETS.  185 


II. 

FOR,  looking  downward  from  thy  spirit's  height, 
Things  that  we  cannot  see  to  thee  are  clear ; 
Music  by  us  unheard  thou  yet  canst  hear ; 
And,  as  men  read  the  wonders  of  the  night, 
So  dost  thou  read  with  clear  unfailing  sight 
These  hearts  of  ours,  and,  from  thy  higher  sphere, 
Canst  see  in  Spring  the  Autumn  dawning  near, 
Canst  in  the  darkness  see  the  unborn  light, 
Canst  see  how  love,  ere  yet  men  know  its  name, 
Fed  with  cool  dews  of  dreams,  begins  to  bud, 
Ere  yet  it  break  into  a  blossom  bright, 
Whose  warm  and  trembling  petals  shine  as  flame  ; 
A  flower  that  fades  not  when  the  summer  wood 
Lies  chilled  and  leafless  in  the  winter's  blight. 


i86  SONNETS. 


III. 

SWEETER  than  half  heard  music  is  to  one, 

Who  waits  upon  a  summer's  night,  and  sees 

The  warm,  white  moonlight  slanting  through  the  trees, 

And  smiles  to  think  the  glad  time  is  begun  • 

Sadder  than,  when  the  summer  time  is  done, 

The  autumn  twilight  when  the  fitful  breeze 

Sighs  for  the  year's  lost  prime  and  sunny  ease  ; 

So  is  to  me  the  web  thy  soul  has  spun 

Of  dream-flowers  plucked  from  pale,  dim  fields  of  sleep, 

Warm  with  no  sun,  wet  with  no  rain  of  ours  : 

Surely  the  web  was  woven  well  of  these, 

And  in  the  streams  we  know  not  did  God  steep 

The  opening  blossoms,  and  the  full-grown  flowers  — 

Hopes  born  of  griefs,  and  joys  of  memories. 


SONNETS.  187 


IV. 

So  end  these  rhymes  that  lack  the  magic  wing, 

Which  could  alone  bear  up  my  thoughts  to  Thee, 

Oh  !  soul  unseen,  though  not  unknown  of  me; 

Yet,  as  in  winter  thinking  of  the  spring 

Doth  seem  more  near  the  distant  May  to  bring  — 

As  one  who  worships  prone  on  bended  knee, 

Then  nearest  seems  unto  his  God  to  be  ; 

So — with  like  hope,  a  little  while  I  sing, 

And  bow  in  soul,  and  worship  in  this  rhyme ; 

And  from  my  land  to-night,  I  look  afar, 

Until  I  almost  deem  that  I  can  see 

The  snowy  mountains  of  that  northern  clime, 

In  midst  whereof,  as  flames  a  winter  star, 

Thy  spirit  shines  in  its  divinity. 


1 88  SONNETS. 


SPEECHLESS. 

Upon  the  Marriage  of  two  Deaf  and  Dumb  Persons. 

THEIR  lips  upon  each  other's  lips  are  laid ; 

Strong  moans  of  joy,  wild  laughter,  and  short  cries 

Seem  uttered  in  the  passion  of  their  eyes. 

He  sees  her  body  fair  and  fallen  head, 

And  she  the  face  whereon  her  soul  is  fed  ; 

And  by  the  way  her  white  breasts  sink  and  rise, 

He  knows  she  must  be  shaken  by  sweet  sighs ; 

But  all  delight  of  sound  for  them  is  dead. 

They  dance  a  strange,  weird  measure,  who  know  not 

The  tune  to  which  their  dancing  feet  are  led  ; 

Their  breath  in  kissing  is  made  doubly  hot 

With  flame  of  pent-up  speech  ;  strange  light  is  shed 

About  their  spirits,  as  they  mix  and  meet 

In  passion-lighted  silence,  'tranced  and  sweet. 


SONNETS.  189 


TO  SLEEP. 

O  TENDER  Sleep  !  Queen  over  ev'ry  queen, 
Our  mother,  since  from  thy  deep  womb  we  spring, 
And  unto  thee  return,  and  to  thee  bring 
Our  weary  limbs  and  wearier  hearts,  and  lean 
Upon  thy  breast ;  thou  who  hast  saddening  seen 
Our  woe  on  earth,  and  blunted  life's  sharp  sting, 
And  when  we  were  in  trouble  did  so  sing, 
That  we  forgot  what  was  and  what  had  been  ; 
Open  thy  gentle  arms  and  take  me  in  ; 
Hide  me !  oh,  hide  me  in  thy  mother's  breast, 
Between  thy  bosom  sweet,  and  long,  soft  hair; 
Yea,  let  me  from  thee  drink  the  milk  of  rest : 
Lay  all  my  virtue  level  with  my  sin, 
So  that  I  have  no  thought  of  days  that  were. 


1 90  SONNETS. 


A  MOOD. 

BEHOLD  !     How  fair  it  is  to  see  in  Spring, 
The  frozen  river  once  more  thaw  and  run 
Under  fresh  wind,  and  warm,  soft,  flickering  sun, 
Is  it  not  good  to  dance  and  laugh  and  sing, 
To  feel  somewhile  the  lips  of  pleasure  sting  ? 
Lo  !  now  the  fairness  of  a  love  well  won  ; 
But  then  things  pass,  and  some  day  Spring  is  done. 
And,  since  we  see  there  are  no  joys  that  cling, 
Would  it  not  be  far  wiser  to  have  none  ? 
Time's  tide  is  dark  and  bitter  with  our  tears, 
Why  should  we  swell  it  with  the  greater  pain 
Of  fair  gone  things,  a  few,  glad,  golden  years  ? 
Of  one  sad  colour  let  our  days  be  spun, 
So  we  may  live,  nor  weep  to  see  life  wane. 


SONNETS.  191 


LOVE'S  ILLUSIONS. 

A  WOMAN  strange,  and  beautiful  to  see, 

With  limbs  of  light  and  hair  of  the  sun's  gold  ! 

Her  fair  hand  did  a  mighty  goblet  hold ; 

The  bubbling  wine  thereof  shone  dazzlingly, 

So  that  I  said,  '  Now,  even  give  to  me 

Some  of  this  wine  that  sparkles  bright  and  cold.' 

She  gaily  laughed,  and  said,  '  Thou  art  too  bold,' 

And  went  her  way,  and  heeded  not  my  plea. 

But  I  said,  '  She  will  come  again,'  and  bore 

The  present  bitter  for  a  coming  sweet ; 

And  lo !  she  came,  but  passed  me  as  before, 

And  came  yet  after  this,  but  held  no  more 

The  goblet  filled  with  wine  of  life  and  heat, 

That  stains  now,  and  makes  wet,  God's  hands  and  feet. 


192  SONNETS. 


SLEEPLAND  GLORIFIED. 

ALL  nights  my  lady  comes  to  me  to  rest, 

Contentedly  in  quiet  vales  of  sleep ; 

And  sometimes,  those  sweet  eyes  of  hers  will  weep, 

And  barren  tears  make  wet  each  white,  round  breast. 

Once  only  were  her  lips  to  my  lips  prest ; 

Then  in  my  veins  I  felt  love's  passion  leap, 

And  all  the  blood-red  waves  of  pleasure  sweep 

Across  my  heart  that  might  not  be  repress'd, 

But  found  its  vent  in  kisses  thick  and  sweet, 

That  fell  upon  her  mouth  and  quivering  eyes,' 

While  all  her  gracious  body  shook  with  sighs ; 

And  we  were  wedded  then,  as  was  most  meet. 

No  light  shone  round,  no  music  breathed,  save  this : 

Love's  moan  of  joy,  and  murmur  of  his  kiss. 


SONNETS.  193 


SLEEPLAND  FORSAKEN. 

0  LOVE  !  O  sweet !  where  art  thou  gone,  my  love  ? 

1  tread  the  songless  ways  of  sleep  alone ; 

In  sleepland's  shadowy  caves  I  make  my  moan. 
O  sleep's  pale,  waveless,  voiceless  seas  whereof 
She  seemed  a  part — where  is  the  syren  gone? 
O  whispering  forests,  tell  me  of  the  dove ! 
O  paths  with  lilies  and  with  roses  sown, 
Where  is  my  flower,  the  fairest  of  the  grove  ? 
O  sweet,  unanswering  voice  and  feet  so  flown, 
In  vain  along  the  silent  shore  I  rove 
Where  shadows  of  the  moon-lit  rocks  lie  prone, 
By  tideless  seas  that  never  winds  may  move ! 
Alas,  my  God,  their  depths  are  deep  enough 
To  hide  that  face,  and  they  shall  keep  their  own. 


194  SONNETS. 


JUSTIFICATION. 

I  CHARGE  you  lay  on  this  dead  man  no  blame  : 
Had  not  God  so  his  mighty  spirit  cursed, 
Not  set  his  hand  against  him  from  the  first, 
We  now  had  had  as  great  and  pure  a  name 
As  ever  flashed  through  all  the  world  like  flame. 
Had  not  his  soul  been  wasted  by  this  thirst, 
Until  his  o'erwrought  heart  was  nigh  to  burst, 
He  had  not  drank  so  deeply  of  this  shame. 
The  hands  of  God  are  strong  to  make  or  mar, 
And  if  He  gathers  clouds  about  one  star, 
Who  says  that  star  is  least  among  the  rest  ? 
I  swear  by  these  blank  eyes  and  tortured  breast, 
Though  I  should  take  upon  me  God's  worst  ban, 
Tis  God  that  I  abjure,  and  not  this  man. 


SONNETS.  195 


LOVE'S  WARFARE. 

'  AND  are  these  cold,  light  words  your  last?'  he  said, 

And  rose,  his  face  made  pale  with  outraged  love. 

She  answered  gaily,  '  Are  they  not  enough  ?' 

And  lightly  laughed  until  his  spirit  bled, 

While  snake-like  on  his  grief  her  beauty  fed. 

He  looked  upon  her  face  once  more  for  proof, 

Then  through  and  through  his  lips  the  sharp  teeth  drove, 

Till  with  the  bitter  dew  of  blood  made  red. 

At  length  he  said,  '  And  so  'twas  but  a  jest, 

A  well-conceived,  well-executed  plan  ; 

Yet  now  may  God  forgive  you,  if  God  can  ! ' 

And,  passing,  left  her  calm  and  self-possessed. 

She  watched  him  cross  the  lawn  with  eyes  bent  low, 

Where  she  had  kissed  his  face  one  hour  ago. 


196  SONNETS. 


SHE  speaks  no  word,  but,  stretching  out  her  hand, 
Touches  him  softly  where  asleep  he  lies ; 
And  he,  too  feeble  now  to  feel  surprise, 
Awakes  and  faintly  smiles  :  they  understand. 
But  now  her  fragrant  breath  his  brow  has  fanned, 
He  raises  to  her  face  large,  hungry  eyes, 
While  like  entrancing  music  fall  her  sighs 
Upon  his  heart  long  exiled  from  joy's  land. 
For  she,  repenting  of  a  deed  ill  done, 
Bows,  kissing  tenderly  his  white,  chilled  face, 
And  in  the  dim  gold  twilight  of  her  hair 
His  eyes  grow  blind,  he  feels  her  last  embrace ; 
Then  on  her  breast  his  head  sinks  unaware, 
And  life  goes  nightwards  with  the  setting  sun. 


SONNETS.  197 


COUNSEL. 

IT  takes  us  such  long  time  to  understand 
That  God  is  God,  and  man  can  be  but  man ; 
We  live  and  labour  for  a  little  span, 
We  wait,  and  watch,  and  fertilise  our  land, 
And  all  for  what  ?  that  war's  all-wasting  brand 
May  spread  its  dearth  according  to  God's  plan  ; 
And  still  we  vainly  strive  beneath  the  ban, 
And  think  against  this  God  to  set  our  hand. 
Oh,  all  my  brothers,  rest  a  space  from  strife, 
Let  each  one  with  no  murmur  live  his  life. 
Will  ye  make  glad  our  tyrant's  eyes  and  ears, 
By  sound  of  sighs  and  sight  of  bitter  tears  ? 
Not  so  ;  but  rather  spite  the  God  on  high, 
By  showing  Him  how  men  can  live  and  die. 


198  SONNETS. 


IN  BONDAGE. 

OH  !  I  have  waited  long  for  thee,  my  sweet, 
In  these  cold  dungeons  far  from  light  or  day, 
And  wondered  if  your  eyes  were  blue  or  gray, 
And  how  your  face  would  look,  my  face  to  meet ; 
And  yet  his  vengeance  cannot  be  complete, 
Who  holds  me  here  as  pris'ner  in  his  sway, 
And,  as  a  panther  lurks  about  his  prey, 
He  lurks  about  us  now  with  noiseless  feet. 
Yet  kiss  me  once  upon  the  lips  and  bow 
The  solemn  beauty  of  your  face  to  mine, 
Laugh  as  you  laughed  of  old ;  but  why  turn  pale, 
And  why  does  such  sweet  rising  music  fail  ? 
Ah  !  he  hath  fill'd  the  cup  to  overflow, 
And  I  must  drink  your  tears  for  my  last  wine. 


SONNETS.  199 


TO  A  TUNE. 

O  WILD,  sweet  tune,  of  which  my  soul  is  fain, 
Through  the  loud  sound  of  sea  and  tempest  heard, 
Like  the  low  moan  of  a  wind-driven  bird, — 
O  sad,  sweet  tune  !  O  passionate,  wild  strain  ! 
Full  of  past  joy,  dead  hope,  and  present  pain, 
Once  more  I  catch  thee,  and  my  heart  is  stirr'd, 
Stung  sharply  by  that  one  great,  simple  word, 
Gone  as  a  dream  that  shall  not  come  again. 
Once  more  I  see  my  lady's  warm,  flushed  face, 
See  her  deep  amorous  eyes,  and  swept  back  hair, 
Yea,  hear  the  tender  sobbing  of  her  breath. 
O  tune !  made  sad  with  all  sweet  things  that  were, 
O  tune !  keep  back,  or  quite  restore  those  days, 
That,  past,  crown  life  or  break  our  wills  for  death. 


200  SONNETS. 


TO  A  DAY. 

SHALL  I  sing  of  the  earth  or  of  the  sea  ? 

Of  bright-wing'd  Mirth,  that  stays  its  hour,  and  flies, 

And  then  doth  perish  in  sad  alien  skies ; 

Shall  I  praise  these,  O  Day,  and  not  praise  thee 

That  giv'st  me  rare,  sweet  gifts — yea,  was  to  me 

As  sudden  fire,  and  perfume  in  mine  eyes, 

That  made  my  roused,  stung  heart  to  swell  and  rise, 

Filling  it  with  the  joy  of  joys  to  be  ? 

The  year  returns,  but  thee  I  see  no  more — 

Gone  as  a  man's  first  dream  of  goodness  goes  ; 

But,  where  less  joys  are  as  forgotten  things, 

When  I  draw  near  to  the  pale,  shadow-shore, 

Be  with  me  then,  to  fight  against  my  foes ; 

Kiss  me,  and  guard  me  !  hide  me  with  thy  wings. 


SONNETS.  201 


STRONGER  THAN  SLEEP. 

WEARY,  my  limbs  upon  my  couch  I  laid, 

And  dreamt ;  and  in  my  dream  I  seemed  to  see 

My  lady,  who  was  soon  my  bride  to  be, 

Silently  standing,  gazing  on  my  bed, 

A  crown  of  bright  red  roses  on  her  head. 

I  said,  '  O  love !  this  hour  is  sweet  to  me  ; 

Stretch  out  your  throat  and  let  us  kiss.'     Then  she 

Bowed  down  her  body  and  brows  garlanded. 

'  Stretch  out  your  hand  and  feel,'  her  deep  eyes  said  : 

I  touched,  and  through  soft  raiment  felt  her  form 

Panting  and  glowing  with  the  want  of  love. 

Then  all  the  waves  of  pleasure,  deep  and  warm, 

Burst  through  my  veins.     My  eyes  love's  hot  tears  bled, 

And  I  awoke,  too  weak  to  speak  or  move. 


202  SONNETS. 


SHAMELESS  LOVE. 

THY  food  my  body,  and  my  blood  thy  wine, 
My  soul  too  thine,  to  tread  beneath  thy  feet, 
While  thus  my  hair  is  gold  and  my  breast  sweet, 
Most  rapturous  is  this  shameful  life  of  mine. 
But  time  must  come,  between  my  life  and  thine, 
When  I  must  leave  the  heaven  of  this  heat, 
And  through  the  cold,  grey  twilight  go  to  meet 
The  night  wherein  no  stars  nor  moon  may  shine. 
A  rose,  then  withered  by  fierce  passion's  sun, 
Left  soiled  and  trampled  in  the  public  way, 
A  broken  wine-cup  emptied  of  delight ; 
Yet  would  I  not,  to  triumph  o'er  that  day, 
Give  up  one  wild,  sweet  moment  of  this  night, 
That  finds  once  more  love's  tune  of  joy  begun. 


SOA'XETS.  203 


•     STRICKEN ! 

O  LOVE,  behold  thy  feet  are  shod  with  flame  ! 

Thy  body  clothed  with  torture  as  a  dress  ; 

Too  weak  thy  stricken  lips  are  to  express 

Thy  mighty  grief,  or  call  upon  the  name 

Of  Him  who  gives  the  sorrow  and  the  shame. 

Thy  lips  have  tasted  the  salt  bitterness 

Of  tears  like  blood,  wrung  out  of  thy  distress. 

Thy  soul  must  reap  a  barren,  bitter  fame. 

Fair  lands  beneath  thee,  and  fair  skies  above, 

Thy  heart  falls  blind  outside  of  that  fair  land 

Whereto  it  may  not  come  ;  all  words  are  vain — 

It  is  the  unattainable  we  love  : 

But  rest  a  little,  and  a  friendly  hand 

Shall  give  thee  peace,  and  ease  from  all  thy  pain. 


204  SONNE7S. 


ABOVE  LOVE.  - 

COME  now,  I  will  be  frank  with  you,  and  say 
I  have  for  you  a  strange  and  bitter  love  : 
Most  strong  it  is,  but  no  love's  strong  enough 
From  higher  aims  to  make  me  turn  away  ; 
Some  short  sharp  pain,  some  idled  night  or  day 
Is  all  the  hurt  that  I  shall  have  thereof. 
I  will  not  wed  you,  and  I  must  remove 
Your  spirit  from  my  path,  as  best  I  may. 
Your  face  would  come  between  my  work  and  me, 
Your  love  would  quite  unnerve  me  for  the  strife ; 
Kiss  me,  forget  me  wholly,  as  I  know 
I  shall  forget  you  in  the  whirl  of  life. 
Nay,  do  not  look  ;  I  swear  I  will  not  see  ; 
Take  off  your  lips  lest  I  should  crush  you  so. 


SONNETS.  205 


THE  FIRST  KISS. 

SHE  sat  where  he  had  left  her  al^  alone, 

With  head  bent  back,  and  eyes  through  love  on  flame, 

And  neck  half  flushed  with  most  delicious  shame, 

With  hair  disordered,  and  with  loosened  zone ; 

She  sat,  and  to  herself  made  tender  moan, 

As  yet  again  in  thought  her  lover  came, 

And  caught  her  by  her  hands  and  called  her  name, 

And  sealed  her  body  as  her  soul  his  own. 

The  June  moon-stricken  twilight,  warm,  and  fair, 

Closed  round  her  where  she  sat  'neath  voiceless  trees, 

Full  of  the  wonder  of  triumphant  prayer, 

And  sense  of  unimagined  ecstasies 

Which  must  be  hers,  she  knows,  yet  knows  not  why; 

But  feels  thereof  his  kiss  the  prophecy. 


206  SONNETS. 


BOUNDED  LOVE. 

ALL  ways  of  common  lo.ve  pall  on  me  now ! 

No  kiss  the  madness  of  my  thirst  allays, 

Through  all  my  wild  warm  dreams  deep  burns  thy  face, 

And,  when  I  wake,  I  hear  thy  love-laugh  low, 

As  all  the  amorous  blood  is  set  a  glow. 

Oh,  for  some  hymn  of  unconjectured  praise, 

Some  unimagined  splendour  of  new  lays, 

Wherein  love  bounded,  might  at  length  o'erflow. 

Oh,  for  an  ocean  of  new  deed  and  speech, 

Where,  no  more  cramped,  our  spirits  might  toss  free, 

As  ships  that  revel  in  full  wind  and  sea, 

That  living,  yet  beyond  life,  we  might  reach 

To  find  some  fresh  lights,  deep  and  strong  enough 

To  bear  the  mighty  burden  of  our  love. 


SONNETS.  207 


CONJECTURE. 

I  THINK,  love,  as  I  hold  your  hand  in  mine, 

If  starless,  cheerless,  everlasting  night 

Should  settle  suddenly  upon  my  sight, 

And  I  should  no  more  see  your  eyes  divine, 

Or  golden  lights  that  in  your  tresses  shine, 

Or  face  now  made  my  measureless  delight, 

Or  sweet  curved  throat,  warm,  beautiful,  and  white, 

Or  soft,  lithe  arms  that  round  about  me  twine, 

How  should  I  bear  to  sit  with  you  as  now, 

And  if  you  looked  upon  me  not  to  know  ; 

To  hear  men  praise  your  throat,  mouth,  eyes,  and  hair, 

Yet  feel  to  me  you  were  no  longer  fair  ? 

To  miss  the  blush  that  colours  all  your  kiss, — 

Slay  me  outright,  O  God  !  but  spare  me  this. 


208  SONNETS. 


TO  M.  C.,  ON  HER  VISIT  TO  LONDON  IN 
WINTER. 

SHUT  are  the  summer's  golden  gates,  I  said, 
Gone  are  the  life  and  light,  and  gone  the  bloom  ; 
Now  turn  we  sadly  to  the  winter's  gloom, 
Pale,  silent  lands  beneath  our  feet  to  tread, 
Cold  wastes  of  grey  sky  stretching  overhead. 
But,  while  afar  we  saw  the  winter  loom, 
Fate  came  between  us  and  the  coming  doom  ; 
Summer  he  claimed,  but  gave  us  thee  instead. 
Then  fairer  glowed  the  earth  than  in  June  days, 
Sweet  sounds,  more  sweet  than  sounds  of  summer  be, 
Hearing  your  voice,  we  heard.     The  darkest  place, 
If  you  but  through  it  passed,  grew  light  as  day, 
And  if  again  in  spring  we  meet  not  thee, 
Then  shall  December  triumph  over  May. 


SONNETS.  209 


CAPTURED  THOUGHT. 

A  THOUGHT  came  to  my  spirit  as  I  lay 

Between  two  sleeps,  and,  through  the  silent  night 

It  looked  at  me  with  sudden  eyes  and  bright ; 

But,  when  I  strove  to  touch  it,  fled  away, 

And  bade  me  dream ;  but  at  the  break  of  day 

I,  waking,  saw,  through  grey,  increasing  light, 

My  last  night's  thought;  but  as,  with  greater  might. 

I  strove  to  grasp  it,  only  crying  '  Stay  ! ' 

It  spread  its  wings  for  flight.     Then,  as  a  snare 

I  set  my  song  and  snared  the  lovely  thing, 

And  said,  '  O  flying  thought,  thou  art  too  fair 

For  me  to  leave  thee  free  and  wandering  ! 

Yet  fret  not  for  thy  liberty,  but  where 

Sad  souls  can  hear  thee  be  content  to  sing.' 


210  SONNETS. 


SUPPLANTED  LOVES. 

WHEN  first  the  music  of  your  voice  I  heard, 
Methought  love's  mystic  promptings  did  arise, 
And  gathered  strength  beneath  your  gentle  eyes ; 
My  being  to  its  depths  was  strangely  stirred, 
For  you,  I  think,  by  look  and  tone  averred 
Your  heart  was  mine :  yet,  as  a  meek  star  dies 
When  slow,  resistless  daylight  fills  the  skies, 
So  softly  waned  that  love  when  one  deferred, 
Transcendent  passion  lit  my  life — its  su'n  ! 
-  Upon  your  nature  rose  a  kindred  light, 
To  quench  my  ray ;  and  yet  our  half-born  fate 
Perchance  no  future  can  obliterate ; 
But,  bliss  fulfilled  recalling  bliss  begun, 
We  four  shall  walk  together  in  God's  sight. 


LONDON  :  STRANGEWAYS  AND  WALDEN,  PRINTERS,  Castle  St.  Leicester  Sq. 


Now  Ready. 

A  SERIES  OF  SIXTEEN  ETCHINGS. 

By  JAMES  WHISTLER,  Esq. 

Price  to  Subscribers  only  i2/.  us.  in  a  handsome  portfolio. 

N.B.  One    hundred    Copies  only  have    been    printed,   and   nearly  all  are 
subscribed  for. 


Fifth  Edition,  crown  8vo.  cloth,  8j. 

THE  LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF  JASON  : 

A  Poem,  in  Seventeen  Books. 
By  WILLIAM  MORRIS. 

"  Morris's  '  Jason '  is  in  the  purest,  simplest,  most  idiomatic  English,  full  of 
freshness,  full  of  life,  vivid  in  landscape,  vivid  in  human  action — worth  reading  at 
the  cost  of  many  leisure  hours,  even  to  a  busy  man." — Times. 


MR.  SWINBURNE'S  NEW  POEMS. 

SECOND  EDITION. 
Now  Ready,  in  Ornamental  Binding,  designed  for  the  Author,  ioj.  (>d. 

SONGS  BEFORE  SUNRISE. 

By  ALGERNON  CHARLES  SWINBURNE. 

"  There  is,  we  believe,  more  real  poetic  power  shown  in  this  volume  than  in 
any  of  the  poet's  earlier  works." — Saturday  Review. 


FIFTH  EDITION. 
Crown  8vo.  in  an  Ornamental  Binding,  designed  by  the  Author,  price  its. 

POEMS. 

By  DANTE  GABRIEL  ROSSETTI. 

"  Here  is  a  volume  of  poetry  upon  which  to  congratulate  the  public  and 
the  author ;  one  of  those  volumes,  coming  so  seldom  and  so  welcome  to  the 
cultivated  reader,  that  are  found  at  the  first  glance  to  promise  the  delight  of  a 
new  poetical  experience.  There  is  no  mistaking  the  savour  of  a  Book  of 
strong  and  new  poetry  of  a  really  high  kind;  no  confounding  it  with  the 
milder  effluence  that  greets  us  from  a  hundred  current  books  of  poetry,  in 
various  degrees  praiseworthy,  or  hopeful,  or  accomplished  ;  and  we  may  say 
at  once  that  it  is  the  former  and  rarer  savour  that  is  assuredly  in  the  present 
case  to  be  discerned." — I'all  Mall  Gazette. 


LONDON:  ELLIS  &  GREEN,  33  KING  ST.,  COVENT  GARDEN. 


•  MR.  MORRIS'S  GREAT  POEM. 

THE  EARTHLY  PARADISE: 

A  Poem,  in  Four  Parts. 
(SPRING,  SUMMER,  AUTUMN,  AND  WINTER.) 

Now  complete  in  4  vols.  crown  8vo.  cloth,  price  2/.,  or  separately' — 

PARTS  I.  and  II.  (Spring  and  Summer),  i6j. 
PART  III.  (Autumn),  12s. 
PART  IV.  (Winter),  izs. 


These  Volumes  contain  Twenty-five  Tales  in  Verse,  viz. : — 
PARTS  I.  AND  II. 


THE  WANDERERS. 

ATALANTA'S  RACE. 

THE  MAN  BORN  TO  BE  KING. 

THE  DOOM  OF  KING  ACRISIUS. 

THE  PROUD  KING. 

CUPID  AND  PSYCHE. 


THE  LOVE  OF  ALCESTIS. 
THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAND. 
THE  SON  OF  CRCESUS. 
THEWATCHINGOFTHE  FALCON. 
PYGMALION  AND  THE  IMAGE. 
OGIER  THE  DANE. 


THE  WRITING  ON  THE  IMAGE. 

PART  III. 


THE  DEATH  OF  PARIS. 

THE  LAND   EAST   OF   THE    SUN 

AND  WEST  OF  THE  MOON. 
ACONTIUS  AND  CYDIPPE.' 


THE  MAN  WHO  NEVER  LAUGHED 

AGAIN. 

THE  STORY  OF  RHODOPE. 
THE  LOVERS  OF  GUDRUN. 


PART  IV. 


THE  GOLDEN  APPLES. 

THE  FOSTERING  OF  ASLAUG. 

BELLEROPHON  AT  ARGOS. 


THE  RING  GIVEN  TO  VENUS. 
BELLEROPHON  IN  LYCIA. 
THE  HILL  OF  VENUS. 


"  We  must  own  that  the  minute  attention  Mr.  Morris  bestows  on  scenic  details 
he  also  applies  to  the  various  phases  of  human  emotion,  and  ofttimes  he  fills  the 
eyes  with  sudden  sorrowless  tears  of  sympathy  with  some  homely  trouble  aptly 
rendered,  or  elevates  our  thoughts  with  themes  charming  in  their  pure  simplicity, 
and  strong  with  deep  pathos." — Times. 

"A  thorough  purity  of  thought  and  language  characterises  Mr.  Morris,. ...and 
*  The  Earthly  Paradise '  is  thereby  adapted  for  conveying  to  our  wives  and 
daughters  a  refined,  though  not  diluted,  version  of  those  wonderful  creations  of 
Greek  fancy  which  the  rougher  sex  alone  is  permitted  to  imbibe  at  first  hand. 
Vet  in  achieving  this  purification,  Mr.  Morris  has  not  imparted  lameness  into  his 
versions.  The  impress  of  familiarity  with  classic  fable  is  stamped  on  his  pages, 
and  echoes  of  the  Greek  are  wafted  to  us  from  afar  both  delicately  and  imper- 
ceptibly  Suffice  it  is  to  say,  that  we  have  enjoyed  such  a  thorough  treat 

in  this,  in  every  sense,  rare  volume,  that  we  heartily  commend  it  our  readers." 
— Saturday  Review. 


LONDON:  ELLIS  &  GREEN,  33  KING  ST.,  COVENT  GARDEN. 


fc, 


3  1970  00298  2442 


j^  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FAdU! 


A     000  701  145     5 


